Kingdom Hearts Null: The Tragedy of Hollow Bastion
by Marsuvees
Summary: Seven years before the Keyblade came into the hands of Sora, the world of Radiant Garden was enchanted with beauty and romance; intrigue and war. In its unassuming last days, among the wilting throes of its death, a small family struggles to survive tragedy. -XVII: Under the Castle-
1. Prolegomenon

_Hello, hello, and hello! After years of planning, I am thrilled to present, finally, my own original work in the form of this story: the prologue to my four-ish part Kingdom Hearts saga. As you may know, this series began and was continued in my seriously modified novelizations of Kingdom Hearts I and II, which you should certainly read before this story (and perhaps leave a review, if you are so inclined!)._

 _This prologue, regarding the history of Radiant Garden and its inhabitants—from our dearly beloved Traverse Town/Radiant Garden/Final Fantasy family, to our much cherished Wayfinder trio, to the dark and troubled inhabitants of Hollow Bastion—was originally conceived in my mind over ten years ago, when all that the KH fandom knew of "Birth by Sleep" was the heart-pounding and mind-racing secret ending to Kingdom Hearts II._

 _Thus, you will see many things in this story inspired by that ending—but let's be clear: this is not a novelization of Birth by Sleep and does not follow the chronology of the KH canon beyond KH 1 and 2, as told in my novelizations (CoM and 358/2 inhabitant a netherworld of un-novelized canon)._

 _It is my sincere hope that this divergence is told well and keeps to the spirit of Kingdom Hearts. It is in that spirit that I have written this opening in the surreal and somewhat jarring style of the wonderful opening cinematics. Since I am not the brilliant Utada Hikaru, I have not gone so far as to compose a song for it—rather, I have done my best to write this opening to the timing of "Shelter" by Porter Robinson and Madeon (if you have somehow not seen the music video to this song, go and make it so!). You can pull up "Porter Robinson & Madeon - Shelter (Official Audio)" on YouTube to follow._

 _I have included italicized notations to help connect the song to the opening, whether by lyrics or by the first bass drop. It seems kind of silly, in a way, but I hope it is an experience for you. The song begins, just as in the games, following the opening mysteria. You are free, of course, to just read at your favored pace and imagine whatever you like!_

 _I pray that you, my dear readers both old and new, will enjoy this work. As always, I live and love to hear your thoughts and feelings, in message or review._

 _Good luck in our shared tribulation awaiting KH3! Chapter 2 will be up this evening.  
~Mars_

* * *

 _._

 _ **Chapter I: Prolegomenon  
**_ _If there is to be a beginning,  
but also, yet, an end-  
to which does this door lead?_

In a splendid room fit for a Princess, atop a tall tower of an even larger Bastion, an auburn-haired child hummed cheerily to herself as she scribbled a picture with crayons. Blue lines tumbled over patches of green, winding about little grey houses with thatched-yellow roofs, all under a white-slate Castle. Her home.

The little girl turned with a proud smile to present her creation for her caretaker's appreciation—

But instead of his warm face, behind her stood six men, four in white coats. The amber eyes of the foremost looked down at her with curiosity and disdain and her smile was lost.

 _DROP_

Zack Fair blinked and there she was—Aerith, pulling him forward by the wrist into the back garden of her father's house. The sun was bright overhead as it glinted off the waterfalls and rivers that wound through Radiant Garden, and he lifted his hand both to shadow his eyes and protect his head from the overhanging foliage of trees and bushes.

As Aerith eased her insistent pull, emerald eyes glittering, she presented with a flourish the long wooden table set up in the garden, covered with all the makings of a feast.

 _I Could Never Find the Right Way to Tell You…_

Zack's beamed at all the people seated around the table: Merlin, at the head, puffing away on his pipe and stroking his beard as he suspiciously eyed Aerith's hand, still holding Zack close.

Beside him Rinoa, a radiant light, smiled with a knowing joy as she watched Squall, detached, practical and realistic, smirk ruefully at the young Tifa, full of idealistic spunk, who argued animatedly with him over some comment or another.

Across from them sat Cid, feet upon table and dirtied teacup in hand, laughing uproariously about the whole engagement.

Quiet at the other end of the table sat young Cloud's thin form, watching the others with silence until his eyes brightened at Zack, welcoming him with a small smile and slight nod.

It took a moment before Zack picked out Vincent's shadowy form, suited up as a Turk, lingering near the edges of Merlin's garden.

Aerith began to explain, but Zack's joy could only snatch her up with a laugh and carry her to the table.

 _Until You're Gone…_

On the other side of the Garden, Aqua looked on proudly as her two brothers sparred under the watchful eye of their Father. A small, grateful smile acknowledged her presence as she handed him one of the two drinks in her hand.

As she sipped on the other, Eraqus asked her thoughts on this or that technique-did she think that Terra had made a good move there? Did Ven block high enough? Was Terra holding back?

Aqua answered honestly, quietly noting the things her father didn't question: how Terra repeatedly glanced at Eraqus, seeking something from him. How Ven laughed as he moved, not understanding the solemnity with which Terra struck. But both she cheered on, because both she loved.

The three of them had been together as long as she could remember, all adopted by their beloved Father at a young age. He told often of finding Aqua after the death of her parents, long before her memory; of finding Terra not long after, a young boy living off the streets of the Garden; of Ven, several years later, rescued by her and Terra from a wandering caravan bound to faraway parts which happened through the Garden. They were an odd sort of family, but a family they were.

 _When I'm Older I'll be Silent Beside You…_

With a sudden, chilling explosion, a stream of darkness, somewhere between a thick liquid and a windy smoke, erupted from the ramparts of Hollow Bastion above, sending ancient stone careening into the houses and streets below.

Time passed into slow motion as the voracious darkness rushed down the edges of the Castle, roaring toward Ven and Terra.

But then Eraqus stood in the gap. Brandishing his Keyblade of light, he repelled the darkness—but it was too much, and with a final, slow glance, his body faded. Aqua cried out and darted forward.

 _But They Will Carry On for Us…_

With nothing to shield them, Terra and Ven were consumed in the darkness and lost from view. Aqua tried to hold her ground, reaching out in search of her brothers until the darkness swallowed her, as well.

But she awoke in a grassy field, gasping. Her brothers, lying beside her, groaned. Her attention, though, was focused upon the figure atop the grassy knoll. Long, silver hair blew in the wind and a single, dark-feathered wing stretched from his shoulder.

He tilted his head and smiled, one gloved hand outstretched.

An invitation.

 _Until You're Gone…_

Zack's reverie was broken by the horrific eruption of darkness from the Castle's highest spires. The sky darkened, thunder clapped, and tables and chairs were tossed aside. Streams of thick, cloudy darkness gushed upon the Garden.

Merlin quickly stepped forward and, chanting a spell, threw up a powerful shield around the family. As his bony body quaked and shook, Aerith rushed forward to hold him up, taking his empty hand in hers.

As Zack ran forward to help, taking her right hand, Tifa took her left. Rinoa snatched up her hand, while Cid took hers, and Squall held them both up. Cloud took Zack's remaining hand. Vincent was nowhere to be seen.

The darkness raged and roared; shrieks and screams and terror filled the air.

Suddenly, Zack felt something against his leg. Looking down, he saw a young girl he did not recognize, no older than ten, give him as great a push as she could muster. She swept her short, black-hair from her forehead, her small eyes filled with steadfast determination.

 _Oh, It's a Long Way Forward…_

Before Zack could question this, the rage of the dark intensified, crashing against Merlin's shield with the force of a hurricane. Just then, Zack felt Cloud's hand slip from his and he disappeared, swallowed, into the torrent of darkness.

Zack, panicked, dove arm-deep into the tide of darkness, grasping desperately for some sign of Cloud.

 _And I Know I'm Not Alone…_

The weight of the family shifted, dedicated to pulling the pair in from the darkness; all was dreadfully tense.

Zack's hand finally caught something solid and he pulled, and they pulled, and in with him came not Cloud, but an unconscious auburn-haired Princess.

 _Until…_

Far away, two boys sat on a beach and watched the stars fall from the sky.

 **Welcome to the Onset of Twilight.**

 **Welcome to the Tragedy of Hollow Bastion.**


	2. ACT I: A Sunflower Amongst the Slate

_Part of the reason this took so long is that I have already pre-completed the whole first part of the story; the first 15 chapters or so. I hope to release them regularly, perhaps bi-weekly, while working to keep ahead on the second/third parts. Grad school may continue to get in the way, though. We shall see!_

 _This is something of a prologue—the main timeline will begin in earnest next time!  
~Mars_

* * *

 _._

 _ **ACT I: LA SERA**_

 _ **Chapter II: A Sunflower Amongst the Slate  
**_ _What good is the warmth of summer;  
without the cold of winter  
to give it sweetness?  
~John Steinbeck_ _ **  
**_

 _It was summer in the Garden then._

 _And Merlin, Grand Wizard of the Court, was taking dinner with two dear friends in the cool of the evening, after a long day spent celebrating the ascension of King Aeron in the place of his father, King Taran. The Lord Protector had even announced the adoption of another apprentice, an orphan still yet a toddler; a young lad, named Ienzo._

 _Amidst the beauty of the party, unfolding as the elegant gardens bloomed, very few felt the humidity, for the cool of the waters that rushed through the Garden kept the breeze cool and refreshing. It had truly been a momentous day filled with parades and dancing and an evening of fireworks—set off by none other than Merlin himself._

" _-And those are snapdragons, foxgloves, and hyacinth!" Professor Gast was pointing in turn to each of the the flowering beauties on the windowsill, great explosions of lavender, cherry and periwinkle, illuminated by the flames of fira magic._

"' _napwagons, floxloves and hikinth!" cried the little girl who sat in his lap, green eyes shining with excitement._

" _Very good! You are so very smart!" Ilfana smiled as she stooped to kiss the child's forehead, sweeping up with her a few more dishes from the small, oaken table as she passed._

 _Merlin nodded as he lit his pipe with a snap from his fingers, enjoying the post-dinner indolence. "She is quite precocious!"_

" _Isn't she?" Gast murmured, looking to Ilfana with love. "We're very lucky."_

" _B'whadda we do w'them, daddy?" little Aerith questioned, tugging on Gast's heavy mustache for attention._

 _Gast shook his head, "Why, nothing at all, my dear! We simply enjoy them; their beauty is itself a blessing, am I right, Merlin?"_

" _Certainly true." Merlin agreed._

" _And," Gast added, lifting Aerith's tiny arm to wave at Ilfana, "We thank your mother for planting them!"_

" _Tank-you, momma!" Aerith waved happily and Merlin could only smile—yes, not only a precocious child, but an uncommonly well-tempered one at that!_

" _You are very welcome, Aerith." Ilfana smiled as took the last few dishes out of sight and knelt to touch her child's nose, "Every beautiful thing must be cared for and loved before it can be beautiful, after all."_

" _Quite right!" Gast grinned, kissing Ilfana with a smirk, "I myself am a fantastic example, eh?"_

 _Two rooms away, a knock on the door disturbed their revelry._

 _Ilfana merrily rolled her eyes as she lifted Aerith from Gast's lap, "Certainly, love."_

" _Quite right, quite right!" Gast pinched Aerith's cheek with a smile and stepped out to check the door._

" _I must say though, Ilfana," Merlin added, "Gast is a far better man having met you than ever I knew him before."_

" _Thank you, Merlin," Ilfana sat, bouncing Aerith on her knee, "I have had more than my share of time to learn."_

 _Before Merlin could answer, an odd sound only just registered in his old ears, like one or two of his old books falling a few feet off the shelf. Judging by Ilfana's tilted head, she had heard it too._

" _Allow me," Merlin lifted himself from his chair and, still puffing his pipe, stepped beyond the dining room's cozy atmosphere to where Gast had vanished after the door._

 _As he rounded the corner into the longer entryway beside the staircase, it was all Merlin could do not to gasp aloud, pipe nearly clattering from his mouth. Quickly he stepped back behind the door jam._

 _Just within the house stood several suited Turks—special operations for President Shinra (Gast's employer himself )—beside a white-coated man with long, oily-black hair and glasses—a co-worker of Gast, Merlin had thought briefly, before the full truth of the scene came to him._

 _For there lay Gast on the floor, blood leaking from his chest and temple and camouflaging into the red carpet beneath him. It was then that Merlin also realized that each of the Turks also bore a firearm; two of which still smoked._

 _Which meant-_

 _Oh, Gast—Gast! Merlin could barely think. He turned back toward the dining room, catching Ilfana's gaze. It must have been clear from his face the direness of the situation, for Ilfana's visage, too, ran cold and shocked. Why would Gast's own company have done such a thing?!_

 _Merlin tried to mouth the word "Turks" to her, but was interrupted by the sound of a click. Turning back, he found himself staring down the barrel of small pistol, unable to even meet the eyes of his soon-to-be killer, who's defensive aim was around the corner and out of sight._

 _Moving quickly, before he saw what he had found, Merlin pushed his hand forward with a sloppy, unfocused, "Aerora!"_

 _With a gust, the Turk was thrown back across the hall by the magical wind, his chambered bullet penetrating the wooden frame of the nearby wall. Immediately, the other three Turks opened fire on Merlin's position, each hunkered behind staircases or doors, their spray sending eruptions of splinter and stone bouncing off Merlin's blue cloak._

 _Pulling his wand out from his robe, Merlin responded with blasts of blizzard and aero magic-the safest inside the home-as he kept his old body ducked low beside the frame. He was never able to get enough of a good look to aim well, only judging his shots by the sounds of what he hit. Picture frames crashed to the ground, wood splintered, and, occasionally, a Turk grunted._

 _As Merlin's mind raced trying to decide his next move, Ilfana was suddenly at his side, Aerith miraculously asleep in her arms—how…?_

 _As the house seemed to shake around them from the assault, Ilfana stared into Merlin's eyes with a serious desperation. "Gast…?"_

 _Merlin's mouth worked up and down for a moment, "I…"_

 _Only a moment of pain washed over Ilfana's face—a quivered lip, a long sigh, closed eyes—before it re-firmed. In that single moment, it felt to Merlin like years of her life passed._

 _Over the din, a high-pitched voice seemed almost to scream, "Ilfana! Ilfana do come out! Gast has kept you here long enough!"_

 _Merlin fired off another Aeroga, catching many, if not all, of the Turk's bullets in its torrent. In that brief few seconds of silence, beneath the roar of the wind, Merlin felt Ilfana's arm on his._

" _Please," she choked out, voice firm but stuck, "Please, take Aerith. Protect her."_

" _Madam, I—" Merlin began, arms frozen as he looked down at the small child being held out to him. "W-w-with all due respect—"_

" _They haven't seen you yet; but they know me." She kissed Aerith once more, her voice a whisper, and held out the sleeping child to him, "Please, take her." She paused, "And once you've gotten out, burn it all."_

 _Still stunned, Merlin accepted the child into his open arm. What was she talking about? How was she so calm?_

" _B-B-but what about you?" he replied meekly._

 _Suddenly, in her left hand, a sword appeared—a black hilt and guard, seated beneath a long silver blade that was topped by a sharp right-angled hook, in the shape of a short arrow. It was the strangest sword Merlin had yet seen-resembling almost a key—and how had she manifested it from nothing-?_

 _The sound of ricocheting bullets returned as Ilfana stood tall to her feet, tying up the hem of her of her dress._

" _Do not worry about me," she took the hilt in both hands, "As I told you, I've had more than my share of time. If I survive, I will find you—and her."_

 _Merlin looked down at the child in his arms and back up at Ilfana above. Seeing that he wasn't yet moving, she pulled him up by the arm, keeping him far from the door, and shoved him toward the back of the house._

 _Merlin finally backed away, heart pounding in fear, and mind at a loss for what he was supposed to do—this was a sleeping child in his arms, for goodness' sake! Gast was dead! Ilfana was going to fight! How had this all gone so wrong?!_

 _Just then, Ilfana's voice brought him back to reality._

" _Wait!"_

 _Merlin looked up to Ilfana, the very form of bravery, standing with her Keyblade brandished, body tensed to move. She took one final look at Aerith, and one more at Merlin._

" _Please," her voice broke, but only briefly, as she swallowed over the emotion, "Please take the sunflower with you." She finally tore her eyes away, looking back to the doorframe that was now shredded with bullets, "It's her favorite."_

 _And with that, Ilfana was gone; vanished beyond Merlin's sight. All he could hear was the sound of bullets and sword. He had to move. He had to go. By the gods, he had to do something! But he couldn't move._

 _Suddenly, the child—dear, little Aerith—shifted in her sleep, murmuring, and Merlin found his moorings released._

 _Turning quickly, he dashed through the dining room, out towards the back of the house. Lifting his wand, he called out a gravity spell with a broken voice, collapsing a small portion of the back wall through which he might fit._

 _Just before he did so, though, his eyes caught sight of the single sunflower, sitting on the windowsill amidst the azaleas and marigold._

 _With a cry, he snatched up the pot and, with it in one arm and Aerith in the other, he ducked from the house of Gast and Ilfana, lingering only long enough to light the thatched roof with a blast of firaga before stealing off into the still and quiet streets of Radiant Garden._

 _Merlin…_

 _Merlin…_

Merlin…?

"Merlin?"

Merlin slowly blinked open his bushy brow and sighed, looking up into Aerith's deep emerald eyes, painted with undeserved worry and concern. No longer a little toddler, she was a young woman of 18. She was still dressed in the white gown of her healing profession, apparently having only just returned from her shift at the infirmary. Her long brunette hair was tied back and piled atop her head in a large bun by a pink ribbon, a feat of balancing and strength that Merlin, a true magician, had always marveled at.

"What…what is it, child?" he answered sleepily, "Welcome home, I should add…"

"Thank you," Aerith quickly responded, concern still evident in her voice, "It's just that you were mumbling in your sleep—were you having a nightmare? Are you alright?"

Merlin blinked, "Why, yes, yes, I'm fine. Only an old man's dreams." He placed his thin hand on hers, "Nothing you need worry yourself over, I do say."

Aerith nodded slowly, not entirely convinced, but experienced enough to know there was little more to be said. "Well, I am glad you've taken your afternoon nap already!" a smile returned to her face, "Remember who's coming over for a wonderful welcome home dinner this evening!"

"Yes, yes, I remember…" Merlin murmured, "Your young…friend."

"And Cloud, too, obviously!" Aerith tut-tutted him with a smile as she stepped away, "And don't be so obstinate—you know who Zack is to me."

"Yes, of course, of course…" Merlin returned her scolding with his own smirk. Yes, Zachary Fair was her "boyfriend", as they called it now. After two years, he might as well accept it!

No matter his qualms, he was pleased to see Aerith so happy as she hummed her away upstairs to change—her best friend, her boyfriend, her "little brother" all back in one day! And Squall, too!

All the same, best to keep young Zack on his toes.

"Remember—Tifa will be here any minute to help prepare!" Aerith called down the stairs. "She's bringing food from the bar."

"I'm not old enough to have forgotten everything, you know!" Merlin called back to her, coming down to a mumble, "As if I would expect Tifa to stay away even a day with Cloud back…"

"I can still hear you!" Aerith laughed from above, before he heard her door shut and her muffled voice after it, "No more grumpiness!"

Merlin sighed as he lit his pipe and leaned back into the cushioned armchair of his study. Aerith had re-opened all the windows, letting the late afternoon breeze in and pushing through several pages of the open book before him. On the sill, among the many flowers Aerith had filled their home with, an old sunflower still grew—bringing Merlin pause.

He had only ever told Aerith the scantest of details. She knew he was not her biological father, she also knew that her parents had died in a housefire many, many years ago. But to tell her any more… Merlin had feared the worst.

When Ilfana never returned, he had tried for years to tie the Shinra Company to the crime, but President Wilhelm Shinra was a professional in his time and his Turks left no trace–-he had never even been able to ascertain their motive, and digging any deeper would've drawn unwanted attention to dear Aerith.

As it was, he raised her himself, giving her the surname Gainsborough and used his position in the King's court to protect them. Thus, Merlin had let the terrible matter sit, always a small parasite at the back of his mind.

The wizard continued to puff away at his pipe, sending great and varied shapes of smoke into the air, taking advantage of the moment that Aerith was away. She wouldn't let him smoke if she were present.

Perhaps that was why he was so wary of Zack: that idiotic, attention-grabbing, antic-causing, ladder-climbing, life-of-the-party, gregarious soldier of the PKF. If there ever was someone who would draw attention it'd be that one.

Couldn't he be just a pinch more professional, like Squall? Or even if he could only be more like Cloud. Ever since that boy moved in with them, at Aerith's insistence, he had been nothing but a quiet, polite and helpful young man. He and Tifa had worked their way to Radiant Garden all the way from Nibelheim; and at such a young age, too! That kind of quiet, unassuming dedication was something Zack could stand to emulate!

But, Merlin feared, it was actually Cloud who wished to be like Zack.

* * *

 _It was winter in the Bastion then._

 _And Ansem the Wise was telling stories before the fireplace._

"… _and so the Prince became a King and the Princess became a Queen," Ansem sighed, satisfied, as the current tale came to its conclusion, "And they lived in the castle happily ever after and had a beautiful family."_

" _I hate when they end like that," Braig scoffed, rolling his eyes as he scratched at his new facial hair, "So predictable: boring!"_

 _Ansem arched a brow as he leaned back in his seat, the large fireplace burning quietly beside him. Its orange glow cast flickering shapes across the faces of his five apprentices and the walls of books behind them._

" _You could always attempt one yourself, Braig." He responded, his tone toward his third-eldest apprentice one of challenging amusement._

" _Yes, I'm certain we'd all love to hear what you have to offer," Even smirked over the thin text in this hand, which he had been reading throughout the evening-Ansem knew fairy tales had never been Even's cup of tea; at least, not since he left childhood about five years ago._

" _Alrighty then—" Braig paused, absently pulling at his short ponytail, "So there once was this Princess, right? And she was—"_

" _Be appropriate." Aeleus' prematurely deep voice interrupted, as he nodded briefly toward young Ienzo before returning to prodding the fire._

 _Ansem watched with a smile as his youngest, little Ienzo of only a newly-minted eight, brushed the silver hair from his eyes and spoke up with the voice of an elementary student, but the vocabulary of one much older, "I'm quite certain I will endure, Aeleus!"_

" _All the same," Dilan chuckled as he reclined in his seat, hands laced behind his head, "I daresay we would all be better off without Braig's…fancies."_

" _Agreed." Aeleus confirmed, picking up a large log in one great hand to place gently on the fire._

" _Awwww, c'mon!" Braig waved his arms wildly, "Gimme a little credit, eh? You think I'd tell a story like that with the old man right here?"_

" _You are certainly capable." Even replied without looking up this time._

 _Ansem couldn't help but laugh at his boys, "It seems you might be stuck with me and my boring stories of castles and families, Braig!"_

" _Whatevs," Braig shrugged, "It's not like I haven't survived all these years of 'em."_

" _Father," Ienzo questioned, the only one to still yet address him so (although Even occasionally still slipped up), "When will our own King and Queen have a family?"_

" _Well, y'see kid—" Braig began quickly, a smirk starting across his face._

" _Appropriate." Aeleus chided again, his square countenance firm._

 _As Braig leaned back with another sly shrug, Ansem mulled over the question. He had never answered questions quickly, even simple ones such as this, and his sons had come to patiently await his response._

" _It will happen when they so choose," he finally responded, observing with bemusement as several ears perked up—they had been discussing free will and determinacy earlier in the day's lessons and were, to his pride, seeing the illustration, "You see, Ienzo, a family is something you choose."_

 _Ienzo stroked his chin for a moment, looking far older than his years, before finally exclaiming: "But I most certainly didn't choose Braig!"_

 _Ansem laugh boomed through the cozy study, mixing with the snickers of Even and the single snort from Aeleus. Dilan only smirked and even Braig released a single, acknowledging, guffaw._

" _Ah, that may be true!" Ansem replied, "But I most certainly chose you, Ienzo! And I also chose Braig," he eyed the young man with a mischievous grin, "Though I often find myself questioning why."_

" _Besides," Even added, eager to both teach or show off, "The fact that you remain here, even in spite of Braig, constitutes a kind of choice, albeit a crude one."_

 _Ienzo nodded, "So King Aeron and Queen Gwendolyn, just as they chose each other, will one day choose to produce a family?"_

" _Indeed, but remember—" Ansem leaned forward, knowing he was almost theatrically eager to communicate his point, "The blood that will tie them to that child is far, far less important than the fact that they chose that child—and that they keep choosing them, every day."_

" _Hm." Aeleus quietly provided his affirmation._

 _Ienzo opened his mouth to ask another question, index finger poised in request, but was interrupted by a rapid knock at the door._

" _Come in!" Dilan said._

" _Lord Ansem," A young castle servant poked his head into the study, "I apologize for interrupting, but there's a fellow at the gate who refuses to leave—"_

" _In this weather?" Ansem stood up quickly, well aware of the chilling storm outside the study's warmth. The entirety of Radiant Garden had been shuttered in preparation for such a gale, "Are you certain he is even capable? Would you leave a man to freeze?"_

 _The servant had no response, so Ansem gathered his cloak around himself and responded for him, "We are not barbarians! Take me to him." He beckoned with his hand, "Braig, Dilan, with me—the rest of you, please clear a spot for this poor guest by the fire."_

 _With a quick nod, Braig and Dilan dutifully followed as Aeleus and Ienzo began to move chairs and shift tables around Even. Ansem brushed past the servant, who followed along at a distance. The halls of the castle were only slightly colder than the study, or other rooms like it; their prolific use of fire magic was enough to heat even the grandest ballrooms of Hollow Bastion._

 _Stepping quickly out before him, Dilan hefted open the large wooden doors of the castle, allowing the biting breeze to blow in unwelcomed, bringing in with it flurries of snow. Ansem wrapped his red cloak firmer around himself and stepped out into the whiteness, taking the first steps down toward the ornate gate of the castle. He'd have to speak with this servant later—there is no world in which Ansem the Wise would allow one of his people to die for want of heat or space!_

" _Braig, Braig—" Ansem called through the whistling chill, as his eyes fell upon a huddled, dark shape amidst the snow piled against the iron, "Open up the gates!"_

 _As Braig headed toward the gatehouse, Dilan caught up beside him._

" _I would be shocked if he yet still breathes…" Dilan sighed, "This damned cold…"_

 _Ansem nodded quietly, darting forward as soon as the gate creaked open wide enough for him to slide through. "Young man, young man—" he called out, stooping to crouch beside the huddled form. "Are you alright?"_

 _As the quivering shape moved, Ansem found himself shocked—not only was this young man alive and able to move, he did so even while wearing only the tattered remains of a cloak and bearing only the slightest of frames. A thin, shaking hand reached out for Ansem, who quickly removed his own robe and wrapped it around the boy—for he could now tell this was a boy, maybe only six or seven years older than Ienzo, perhaps, for his emaciated and desperately pale form made it difficult to tell._

 _The cold bit at Ansem ever more deeply, as he put aside for the moment the questions of this young man's origin—how did one such as he end up in the Garden, in this condition? And how did he end up at the castle gates in the midst of a winter storm? Confused and concerned, Ansem called for Braig and Dilan to help carry him._

" _It will be alright, my son," Ansem comforted, wrapping the boy close in his robe, "Tell me, how did you get here? Where are you from?"_

" _The hell?" Braig muttered over Ansem's shoulder, rubbing his arms in the cold, "How's this dude alive?" Dilan could only shrug, as he shook the ice from his long, braided hair._

" _I d—I don't-t-t- k-k-know…" came the half-conscious, chattered response to Ansem's inquiry._

 _Ansem's brow furrowed as he gestured for Dilan and Braig to take the youth by the shoulders, "Well…do you have a name?"_

 _The boy eyes rolled up to look at Ansem, their amber flame the first hint of color Ansem could observe in his whole form, "X-x-x-x-Xeha…Xehanort-t-t-t…"_

 _Ansem breathed sharply as he stood, cold knifing his bones. He lifted the boy with Braig and Dilan, "Well, Xehanort, you may call me Ansem—and I promise we will make you well."_

 _To that, Xehanort did not respond, and Ansem feared he had lost consciousness._

 _Xehanort…_

 _Xehanort…_

Xehanort…

"Xehanort…?"

"Sir?"

Ansem startled awake, blinking until the study around him came into focus. Apparently, he had dozed off for an afternoon nap.

"Sir?" Xehanort repeated, looking down at him, unsure, "Are you alright? You were repeating my name."

Ansem rubbed at his eyes and sat forward. There he was, Xehanort—somehow become his foremost prodigy, the recipient of Even's jealousy and Ienzo's emulations. Several books and stacks of paper were held under his arms and a pencil was tucked into his ear, pushed back along with that long silver-white hair of his—so shocking to the rest of his brothers when they realized the shade was not simply the ice and snow he had been found in.

Unfortunately, the eternally serious young man had never recovered his memories despite their greatest, ongoing efforts over many long years. The mystery of his arrival, truly, of his _survival_ , remained just that.

"What—what time is it, Xehanort?" Ansem questioned with a weary smile.

"Well, sir, the sun has just set—" Xehanort glanced behind him, "and the young Princess is requesting a story."

Ansem followed his gaze to see the large bulk of Aeleus, decorated in his full military regalia, standing behind Xehanort, holding in his arms the tiny form of Princess Kairi.

"She has also selected the colors for her party." Aeleus added, briefly, with a paradoxical solemnity, "Purple and white."

Kairi nodded vigorously in affirmation. In his enormous arms, she looked like the smallest of creatures—her bobbing head was barely the size of Aeleus' whole hand. Her large eyes looked at Ansem, through auburn tresses, with an infectious, expecting, mirth.

"Well, let's not keep Her Majesty waiting!" Ansem exclaimed with a playful smile, as he lifted himself from his chair with a great heave. He knew was getting old. "Are you be willing to join us, Xehanort?"

Thinking for a moment, Xehanort turned to follow after him, "I suppose I could, at least momentarily. I wanted to speak with you about several experiments, as well."

Ansem placed a hand on Xehanort's white-coated shoulder, he must've been at work in the laboratories today.

"A wise choice."


	3. This Side of Paradise

_**.**_

 _ **Chapter III: This Side of Paradise  
**_ _Never lose an opportunity of seeing  
anything that is beautiful;  
for beauty is God's handwriting-  
a wayside sacrament.  
~Ralph Waldo Emerson_

Zachary Fair never thought he'd go out this way. After realizing that he couldn't live forever (at the tender age of sixteen), he had always assumed he'd meet his end after an epic mountain top duel with the resurrected Horned King, or perhaps saving a school-full of children with his wit alone.

Not here, in a cramped train car, where his sudden demise from boredom would be commemorated only by a dry mocking from Squall.

The pace of his tapping foot quickened as the train passed into the shadows of the Barren Canyons; the open plains of sweeping greens and golden wheat giving way to the withered, dark-blue rock walls left impoverished by the dark magics of the Cauldron War. Zack felt his giddiness only increase. Even the ugly canyons were a welcome sign—they were almost home.

Across from him in their small cabin, his fellows in suffering, sat the tall and thin Squall Leonhart; face and eyes equally sharp as the contours of the cliffside that passed beyond their window, under his firm gaze, split by a long scar that crossed from his forehead, over his nose, to his cheek. He sat with one leg crossed confidently over the other, with both arms spread wide along the back rim of the cushioned seat. Zack felt somehow impressed that the man was able to sit so widely without slouching—it was some uniquely-Squall mix of military discipline and quiet self-confidence.

Beside him, Rinoa Heartilly lay with her head tilted back against his upper arm and her feet kicked up to reach across the aisle to rest beside Zack, leaving her vibrant blue, long-waisted coat to settle like a pool around her on the seat. Her eyes were closed, but her slight, knowing smile and quiet hum were more than enough to prove she was quite awake. Every now and then, with the shift of the train, the white fur from the collar of Squall's leather jacket would tickle her face, widening her smile with the wrinkling of her nose.

How they could each seem so nonchalant was bizarre to Zack. C'mon—after all this time, they were almost back home! A whole eight-month rotation away from the Garden—excepting one or two holiday weekends—and they were finally coming back from Corel, aka, middle-of-nowhere-ville. Now two tapping fingers joined his foot in a chorus that he was sure Squall would call him on any minute—not that he cared. All that mattered was that he would see the waterfalls again! The flowers again! The Bastion again! And, most importantly, cute, lovely, beautiful, Aerith.

There had been a time when Zack wouldn't have, in fact hadn't, noticed all those former things; or, at least, he never would've truly seen them. But now that he'd seen the latter, her, he found himself unable to miss anything. She had taught him how to appreciate it all.

Another two fingers joined the fray, until his whole left hand was tapping an incoherent tune against the armrest of his increasingly uncomfortable seating.

A sudden stirring to Zack's right drew his attention to the young Cloud Strife. The poor kid had startled awake, having been lulled to sleep by the dull rumble of the train over the last few hours. His almost glowing blue eyes betrayed a certain agitation or even fear.

"Hey," Zack welcomed, friendly brushing Cloud's blonde spikes, "Welcome back to the land of the living. Everything's alright, we're almost home!"

When Cloud's eyes focused on him, Zack could sense him relax—or, perhaps more accurately, become slightly less tense. Zack's recent apprentice, as far as he could tell, always operated at some level of unease. He had thought it might've gone away when the truth came out (to Zack, at least—no one else knew and Zack didn't care to tell anyone) that Cloud had lied about his age to join the Garden's Peace Keeping Force. The PKF required at least an age of 16, but Cloud was an old 15—easy enough for him to fake, especially when he and his papers were from such a faraway and uninteresting hamlet as Nibelheim. Not that Zack was one to condemn—he'd joined on his sixteenth birthday himself, nearly two years ago, now.

After a moment of studying him, Cloud's eyes cleared. He glanced briefly out the window, scanning the landscape, before turning back to Zack—his eyes now showing regard. He nodded at Zack with what might've even been a slight smile. before acknowledging Squall's glance at him with a second nod. Zack grinned. He loved this kid, in reality more like a halfway little brother, since Zack was only a couple years older than he. And the way Cloud looked up to him, the way his face changed when he saw him—Zack could feel the admiration in his eyes and it was…intoxicating? Flattering? To know Cloud, you had to get really good at reading his eyes.

Whatever it was, it was the way that he himself used to look up to Angeal, his own teacher, and Zack knew for damn sure that he liked being the recipient of that kind of esteem—it made him feel like he was doing something right, like he was carrying on Angeal's legacy. At least, in the eyes of one person, he was some kind of hero.

A sudden nudge at his knee drew Zack's eyes up to Rinoa, who peeked at him with one open eye, brown and mirthful, under an arched brow, "Don't get too full of yourself—I can see it on your face."

Zack chuckled, "That easy to read, huh?"

With a smile, Rinoa closed her eye again, "Everyone is, if you pay enough attention."

"Right," Squall smirked, "Wutai didn't stop their rumblings because you were there, Zack."

"Not funny." Rinoa intoned, turning the wrath of her foot to kick at Squall, who only shifted out of the way and turned back to the window.

The muffled voice of the train's conductor echoed something unintelligible over the still imperfect amplifier. The train may have been the marvelous peak of current Shinra tech, but it wasn't quite reliable just yet. Zack was slightly impressed that they had only been forced to stop two or so times since they left the last hub in Wutai.

"There it is!" Rinoa suddenly cried out, nearly leaping over Squall to push her face against the glass.

Zack grinned—there it was, almost iridescent in the sunlight as they emerged from the canyon: Radiant Garden. Its great stone walls shimmered nearly a perfect white, except for the glittering sparkles of blue waterfalls that fell over its edges. The great greens of tree and bush, so sharp against the blue, sprouted like fountains from inside the Garden, yet hung like an elegant, canopied roof. Above it all, the sheer enormity of Hollow Bastion towered, with ramparts of dark blue and turrets of grey stone that seemed almost to extend forever.

"That never gets old." Squall smirked and relaxed again, as Rinoa still nearly crawled to sit atop him.

Zack nodded. "That's for sure!"

For his part, Cloud sat quietly and watched the town approach.

"I'm so glad we get to be a part of this." Rinoa said quietly, never tearing her eyes away, "Y'know, we get to keep it going for everyone else."

"Only if we figure out where the Tsviets are hiding." Squall noted, arms now tucked behind his head and eyes closed.

"We will." Rinoa affirmed.

"C'mon, Squall!" Zack said, "If terrorists are hiding out on the frontier, then they're not causing any problems. Don't be a downer."

Opening one eye, Squall responded, "You haven't the heard the reports Rinoa and I have."

"Oh? And are you willing to share, oh high and mighty Captain Leonhart?" Zack said with a smirk.

"I think you mean _Lieutenant_ Leonhart—" Rinoa finally turned from the window to affectionately tap Squall's nose, "There's only one captain here."

"Just making sure Squall remembers who the boss is!" Zack replied, grabbing Cloud around the shoulder, "Us lowly enlisters can only keep track of so much!"

"Oh, believe me, Corporal Fair—" Rinoa smiled as she returned to her seat, "He knows."

The train's whistle trumpeted as the engine entered the walls of the Garden. For a brief moment, all was dark as their cabin passed through the thick wall. Then, all at once, it was bright again and Zack's heart warmed to see the town from the inside.

The shadows of the trees wavered over the sparkling water that ran downward over each level of the multilayered city, cutting through each little district, each row of houses, and each tightly-packed, homely lane. Rinoa was right—it was good to be a part of something bigger; of keeping this place safe.

As the train slowed, the station platform came into view. The mass of blurred faces blew by, becoming clearer and clearer as the train slowed, finally, to a chugging stop. Zack, standing up just before the final lurch, stumbled forward slightly and caught himself against the window. Peering through the glass, he saw a tall, bouncing, wide-brimmed hat floating along amidst the sea of faces.

Gesturing briefly at Cloud, with a wide smirk, Zack immediately turned and dashed from the car. He'd had more than enough of the cramped cars and needed to breathe deep of Garden air!

Doing his best to politely shove his way through the bustling passengers, he made his way to the nearest exist and, squeezing past the conductor with a friendly nod and salute, stumbled out onto the stone platform.

Taking on a grand smile, Zack drew in a deep breath and cried out, "Home sweet home!"

Ignoring the odd looks from passers-by, Zack started his unconscious habit of squats, burning off all his excess energy. After every crouch, he took another full breath of air—almost tasting the sweet scents of the flowering buds on the wind.

Speaking of that—he had to make sure he stopped by one of the flower salesmen in this borough to get a present for Aerith; any closer to Merlin's and he was relatively certain she'd be the dealer for all the other shops!

As he stood to his feet again, he found the floating, sand colored hat moving toward him. With no time to react, Zack had to catch his balance as Tifa Lockhart, strong and athletic, crashed into him with a hug.

"Geeze, girl," Zack laughed as he returned the young girl's embrace, "D'ya really have to sneak up on a guy like that?"

Tifa, brushing back her dark-brown—nearly raven—hair from her forehead, smiled back at him with equally dark chocolate eyes, "Don't be silly, I know you saw me—"

"Tifa!" Rinoa cried, as she stepped from the train. Tifa's eyes were immediately away from Zack and her grip loosened as she pushed from him to a dive into Rinoa's arms. "I'm so glad you came!"

Tifa shook her head, "Of course!"

From beside them, Squall nodded his greetings, "Hey, kid."

"Good to see you, too, Squall." Tifa smiled, making almost to jump at him with a hug. She knew better than to follow through, but to see Squall's ever-so-slight twitch in prepared defense was apparently all she was after.

As she still held Rinoa's arm loosely, but tight enough that they weren't separated as more travelers disembarked, Cloud appeared at train's exit. Seeing everyone outside, he paused just slightly; long enough, though, for the person behind him to bump into his back and send Cloud stumbling forward off the train and onto the platform.

Quickly, with as much grace as he could muster, he righted himself and, pushing several wayward blonde spikes from his face, found himself standing beside Tifa.

"Cloud." Tifa smiled and tilted her head, arms now hooked behind her back. Knowing warmth radiated off her. In a different way, Zack knew, her greeting for Cloud—though simpler—was just as affectionate, if not more, than what she had shared with him or Rinoa.

Cloud, for his part, coughed, "Hey, Tifa."

Leaning forward, Tifa caught his shifting eyes with her own, "Welcome home!"

"Y-yeah." He responded, nodding slightly.

Zack shook his head with a bemused, knowing smile of his own. He still had to do some work with him.

"I love the ensemble today!" Rinoa suddenly spoke up, tugging at the brown vest that Tifa wore over a short-sleeved, button-up shirt, paired with a brown skirt and wide belt. "I guess that means the 7th Heaven didn't need you today?"

"Really? You like it?" Tifa smiled, striking a bit of a pose, "Actually, I took the day off—I didn't think I'd be able to focus, knowing that everyone was coming home today!"

"Hey, Cloud," Zack gave a sly look, "What do you think of Tifa's get-up?"

He wasn't sure if anyone other than him could've noticed it, but a split-second of fear passed through Cloud's blue eyes. "I—I think it's—"

"He thinks it's great!" Tifa pouted at Zack while grabbing Cloud by the hand to pull him forward, "It's what everyone used to wear back in Nibelheim!"

"Right, yeah, Nibelheim." Cloud stuttered out as Tifa led the group, Cloud first, away from the train.

"Really?" Zack wondered, slyly stroking his chin, "Cloud in a hat like that…huh."

Rinoa suddenly clapped her hands together, mustering the group, "Let's get moving—no more dilly-dallying!"

Zack took another deep breath, smile only widening as he watched his friend march off in a line. Legs tingling, he crushed out another couple of squats before moving excitedly after them.

Tifa lead the group out into the town, dragging Cloud on behind her. Zack couldn't help but shake his head. Yeah, he'd have to work on this with him. Not only did he have no idea what he was doing, he was pretty sure Cloud had no idea what was going on period.

Another sigh, another breath, and Zack jumped forward to shove himself between Rinoa and Squall, hoping they might share some more of his excitement. They were home.

* * *

"That'll be seventy-nine munny!" the salesman totaled merrily from behind a wide mustache,

"Seriously?" Zack sighed and dug into his pockets, producing the required sum and taking the small, potted yellow acacia, "Just rob me, why don't you…"

The man just continued to smile broadly as Zack took the small plant in both hands and returned to where the other stood, at the edge of the path that exited the borough's marketplace.

"Everything's more expensive during a festival." Rinoa smiled empathetically, having heard the conversation.

"I had forgotten it was the Princess' birthday!" Zack sighed, as he looked up at the pink and white streamers that a motley crew of volunteer and borough officials were stretching all over the town—every great and colorful decoration in honor of Princess Kairi's momentous seventh birthday.

Birthday balloons were being tied down, banners were being hung from windows, and long white pavilions throughout the city were being set up so that each borough could celebrate-all while the main event occurred in the Castle; the centerpiece of the entire town.

"Too much work for a child who will barely remember it." Squall intoned, looking up with disdain at the same image.

"I think it's beautiful!" Tifa responded, staring up with awe at the enormous Hollow Bastion, itself decked out in various colored drapings and flags, "I'd love to go to the ball—imagine, being inside the Castle!"

Zack looked to see Rinoa and Squall share a knowing smirk, and he, too, smiled, holding back anything he might've been tempted to say. Together, the group moved out of the marketplace and into one of the main thoroughfares that wound through the whole of the Garden.

"So how many times has Merlin re-designed his fireworks from the ground up?" Rinoa asked, as they walked under the archways that supported the Garden's upper levels.

Tifa laughed, "Only about a half dozen!"

"Hm." Rinoa touched a finger to her lips, "I'm impressed."

"Give it time, Rinoa!" Zack grinned, "He's still got a few more days!"

"Counting on Merlin being out, are you, Zack?" Squall raised an eyebrow.

Zack responded with a snort, lacking either confirmation or denial.

Suddenly, Rinoa trilled—or, more specifically, a small device attached to her waist did.

"Oh?" Rinoa raised an eyebrow and unclipped the small rectangle, only a couple times larger than a six-sided die. Everyone quieted as the shape vibrated intermittently and sounded a couple more times. Zack was wide-eyed—he'd only seen Rinoa's PHS go off once or twice before and the top-secret mix of magic and tech from Shinra Corp which could transmit and receive short messages enchanted him. It was like…super magic.

Rinoa frowned, "Something's happening in the center of the third district."

"We'll have to take the long way around." Squall noted.

"What?" Zack exclaimed, "No way! We gotta go make sure everyone's ok!"

"They are." Squall replied flatly, "The fact that it went over the PHS means it's known."

"Are you sure-?" Tifa wondered tentatively.

"The third district is only a couple blocks over." Zack insisted, turning to Cloud, "If you guys don't go, then at least Cloud and I will!"

Zack hadn't waited for Cloud's response, though, and was already halfway down the street, with Tifa in tow.

"As the commanding officer, I insist we go along." Rinoa smiled, wrapping her arm around Squall's neck and dragging him forward, "Zack's right—it is our job!"

"Hrm." Squall twisted himself out of the crook of her elbow, "Fine. Did brass have anything else to say, Rinoa?"

"Uh…I don't think so?" she said, as she caught up to Zack, "I'm still getting the…language? Is that it? I'm still getting the language straight."

Squall sighed. "So just, 'a thing is happening'?"

"Well, maybe it involved, I don't know…a store?" Rinoa tapped a finger on her chin, "Maybe something about a blockage?"

"Well, whatever is, you've got Zack all-in…" Squall mumbled.

Zack could hear the two talking behind him and, with a slight grin, purposely sped up a little, dodging through a slowly thickening crowd. Tucking his potted acacia close to his chest, Zack ducked a bit and pushed through several chatting bystanders with a friendly "excuse me!"

He heard Tifa apologizing for him as she followed up behind with Cloud in tow. They were getting closer now to the center boulevard, which cut its way through the first, lowest, levels of town, before the first great step of the town's stair-case pattern began to climb its way around Hollow Bastion.

With one deep breath and concurrent push, Zack wedged his way out of what had become quite a boisterous and packed crowd and stumbled out into the chest of a PKF officer, armored and with standard issue blade by his side.

"So what's going on?" Zack asked, stretching his limbs in the open as he tried to see past the guard-focused on pushing the crowd back-and into the rest of the boulevard, which was swarming with more PKF soldiers.

The guard shook his head, "I'm gonna need you to get back, sir."

Zack heard Tifa apologize her way up behind him—good, he'd have backup, just in case.

"C'mon, man, just a little info?" Zack flashed his own bronze PKF brooch, attached to the strap of his sheath, which crossed his chest, "Also, it's Corporal Fair."

"I'm sorry, sir." The guard replied, face hidden behind his helmet, "I would need higher clearance—"

"Like, say, a Captain?" Zack heard Rinoa speak up, flashing her own golden brooch.

"Captain!" the guard saluted and stepped back, allowing the five to pass beyond the perimeter.

"So what's the story, private?" Rinoa asked, as she surveyed the scene.

"Hostage situation, ma'am." The guard murmured, keeping his face toward the ever-growing crowd.

"What?!" the whole group exclaimed together.

"Some nutcase went off inside that boutique over there. We're still not sure what he has, except for the one person who didn't get out." He gestured firmly toward the crowd, "We've been able to catch a few glimpses through the glass, but no one has tried to approach yet."

"Have they called any negotiators—" Rinoa had begun to inquire, but Zack stopped listening.

"Hey Cloud, hold my flower for me, would'ya?" Zack gently passed the pot along to his obedient companion and moved toward the storefront, which had been surrounded in a half circle by a shoddy perimeter.

Before he got out of earshot, Zack heard Squall begin to ask where he was going—but by then, it was too late, he had already gotten out of their direct sight. He took a deep breath as he moved closer, dodging around PKF soldiers who seemed to just stand around doing nothing. What a waste. They were totally gonna mess this up-and with everyone watching, too. He shook his head at the growing, fascinated crowd. He'd fix this right up for them.

As he got closer, Zack loosened the straps of his sheath. Passing through the inner perimeter where no one stood, he got a good look at the square brick building, painted in the same light blues and white that defined so much of Radiant Garden. The light reflecting off the fully windowed face blocked his view of the interior.

"Excuse me; hello in there?" Zach yelled toward the open door, which blew back and forth in the breeze, "I'm not here to stop you, I'm here to listen. See—" he reached up and unlatched his sheath from over his shoulder and laid his large sword gently on the ground —a tall blade almost as wide as Cloud's torso that he had inherited from Angeal—and began to march forward, arms raised, "I'm unarmed. I just want to talk. I can be your hostage, too, I mean, if you want."

"Zachary Fair! Really?!" he heard the muted shout of Rinoa from behind him. A glance revealed her to be talking animatedly with a PKF Corporal like himself, while shooting daggers at Zack with her eyes. Zack guessed that it was that guy's head which he had just front flipped over.

Steadying his breath, Zack reached the door. Catching it with his hand, he took one last look to see Squall shaking his head, Tifa looking worried, and Cloud watching intently. The crowd, noticing him and spreading the word in whispers, stood in hushed fascination. Do or die.

With hands still raised, Zack entered the boutique. Wooden shelves held a small inventory of shirts and slacks, with a collection of colorful dresses hanging closest to the window. He recognized most of them as work from the outer provinces, shipped in here to satisfy the demands of the city. Beyond that, Zack had no idea where to look in here—he hadn't bought new clothes in at least three years.

"Hel—" he started before being interrupted.

"What the hell are you doing?" A hoarse voice startled him.

Zack turned, careful and slow, toward the back of the store. There, huddled in the shadow of an awning to a backroom, stood a short man with a large knife, held close to the throat of a young woman no older than Tifa.

"I'm just here to tal-to listen." Zack began as he sized up the situation. Based on the accent, the man was from Wutai. He was thin, with sparse hair, and a quivering hand. The awkward way he gripped the knife told Zack he had no idea what he was doing. His faced was covered with sweat, which had matted against the ginger hair of the young woman he gripped so tightly. Her face was a battleground between the red flush of tears and the pallid white of terror, all mixed together as her whole slight body trembled.

"What's your name?" Zack asked warmly, directing his question toward the girl.

"R-Refia." She whispered.

"Sh-shut up!" the man shook her, nearly pricking her with the knife.

"Well, what's your name, then?" Zack asked, briefly mouthing 'nice to meet you' to this Refia. He had to stay calm. Saving that girl and shutting this whole thing down, and thus saving everyone's day, was counting on him staying totally calm.

"My name isn't important." He muttered, "Just my message. MY message."

"Well, why don't you let Refia go and keep me—and I'll listen." Zack responded. "I don't think you could keep both of us and," he smiled encouragingly at Refia, "I'm a Corporal, y'know—probably a more valuable prisoner for you, I think."

Refia's mouth moved, but she didn't speak. The Wutain looked between the both of them, eyes shifting frantically. With a muttered curse, he shoved her toward the door and came at Zack with the knife-standing just close enough to be threatening, but far enough away that Zack didn't want to yet risk taking it from him. Let him talk; hear his story. Just a crazy dude who wanted an ear to talk off.

Refia stumbled to a stop, almost crashing into a table of well-crafted shoes. She looked up at Zack, mouth working up and down, unsure of what to do.

"It's okay, go on." Zack inclined his head toward the door, "Just tell them I want to talk to my friend here for a little bit."

She nodded and, finally stuttering out something like a 'thank-you', stumbled out into the boulevard. Now, it was just him and the Wutain, whose hand still shook as he jutted his knife toward Zack's stomach.

"You d-don't know, you have n-no idea what's going on h-here." The man muttered, glancing frantically between Zack and the door through which Refia had disappeared.

"Why don't you help me understand?" Zack responded, careful to hold his hands open beside him.

"What t-they do. It's the experiments." The man shook his head, "They get into your head, into you, and wriggle around. They hurt you. They, they tell you things. They show you things. The darkness—the darkness that's inside of you!"

The man waved the knife frantically now, nearly cutting at Zack's chest. Pausing, Zack focused on his breathing. This guy was off his rocker. Was he on some kind of Wutain herb? Zack knew from secret experience that stuff could really mess with a person.

"They?" he inquired, hoping to anchor the man's ramblings in something real.

"The white and the black, in the basement, in the tower," The man was becoming even more frantic, eyes fluttering open and shut. Zack was tempted to reach for the knife, sensing that the situation was becoming more dangerous and unhinged. "The darkness; darkness sprouting in the heart—it grows, it consumes, in the end—in the end—"

"Sir, I want to help you, but you'll have to tell me who-" Zack began.

"The President, he'll know! Ask the President!" a sudden light of clear sanity returned to the man's eyes, with a brief spark of pride spreading across his face—as if he had just managed a very difficult task. As soon as it appeared, however, it was eclipsed. "He'll know that every heart returns to darkness whence it came! Darkness is the heart's true—"

Suddenly, the man stopped speaking and it took Zack a moment to realize it. The quiet _thwip_ of glass breaking behind him had only just registered when Zack watched in shock as a small circular hole appeared in the Wutain's soaked forehead and slowly dribbled blood. Eyes wide, Zack knew before his body hit the ground that the man was dead. Someone with a rare firearm and extreme skill in it had just murdered this man.

Zack had seen death before; plenty of it. More than enough of it, in fact-actually so much that any death now bothered him more than ever; especially something like this. It was no longer a shock—it was an angry normal.

Spinning, he sprinted from the store. Squinting slightly in the renewed light, Zack blocked the sun with his hand and ran toward where he thought he had glimpsed Rinoa.

"What the hell, Rinoa? He didn't have to die!" Zack yelled, as PKF officers swarmed around him and into the boutique, "Who the hell got a gun down here and ordered a shot?"

"Hey, hey." He felt Squall's strength contend with his own, "You need to relax. Aside from your antics, we didn't do anything."

As the world came into focus, Zack saw that Squall wasn't lying. Tifa look shocked, her gaping mouth covered as she stared at the tiny hole in boutique's window where a single bullet had passed through on its deadly mission. Cloud's eyes seemed locked on some distant sight behind Zack, while Rinoa played lightly with her hair as her furrowed brow scanned the rooftops behind the murnuring crowd.

Zack's anger turned quickly to confusion. Squall sensed this and let him go, speaking as he brushed at his shoulders, "It must have been a vigilante."

"I think you mean a murderer." Tifa and Zack retorted in near unison.

Squall shrugged as he turned to follow Rinoa's gaze, "In this case, same difference."

Zack shook his head as he watched two PKF privates carry a shrouded body out from inside the boutique. He mentally replayed everything the man had said to him—what had it been that got him killed? Why would someone want to execute a lunatic?

"Did he say anything to you?" Rinoa asked, finally turning to face Zack.

"He just…he just ranted about darkness and someone hurting him." Zack unconsciously began to squat-now a nervous habit: knees fully bent, arms out; up straight, arms in. "He said something about towers and basements and experiments—and that I should "ask the President"?"

"There's only one 'The President' in Radiant Garden," Squall scowled, looking up over the rooftops toward the southern end of the city where the top of Shinra headquarters could just barely be glimpsed.

"So what now?" Zack asked Rinoa, restless from the frothing mix of adrenaline, confusion, shock and relief inside,"We'll have to head back to HQ and explain everything, right?"

Touching a thoughtful finger to her lips, Rinoa shook her head, "No, I don't think so. You tell me everything, start to finish, and I'll take care of it." Squall came to stand by her side and she smiled weakly, yet solemn, "I mean, if you are up to it, you still have a welcome-home dinner to attend and I don't want Aerith's evening ruined, too."

Zack's squats stopped. What Rinoa said made sense—it normally did—but something in him rebelled at the idea of not being directly involved in whatever-this-was. The Wutain's face stuck with him, shaken and sweating—almost broken. How could he just abandon that? How could he just step back when he was needed? A man had just died! How could this feel almost rote—with reports and hierarchies—it was a shock to the crowd around them! Why not they themselves?

"Rinoa, I can't just—" Zack began.

Rinoa sighed, "Would it help if I put your name in as the referral for the case that will almost certainly come from this? You might even get an investigative role. Would that get you to dinner?"

After a moment's consideration, Zack nodded his acceptance. He'd leave it in Rinoa's capable hands. For now. Aerith was waiting, after all. He'd get to the bottom of this himself.

"Good!" Rinoa clapped her hands together, a ray of light in the otherwise disturbing scene. "Please give my love and our apologies to Aerith-" her face turned somewhat grim as she passed by them, headed for the small camp of PKF beside the boutique, with Squall following after, "we'll let you know how this turns out."

* * *

The group, now reduced to three, walked in silence the rest of the way to Merlin's rather large house, a walk of about two dozen blocks. Cloud had spent the time with his head down, deep in whatever thought he was always lost in. Tifa, for her part, had looked at several points about to speak, but had always chosen against him.

Zack himself had struggled to process the emotions of what he had just experienced, refusing to allow it to stain or darken the ever-bright loveliness of the Garden around him. This was helped along by the heart-swelling expectation of seeing Aerith again, for, in the face of her presence, all troubles seemed to melt away; escorted out of existence like pain by an expert massage.

Aerith Gainsborough—what a lucky guy he was. The day he had met her was one of the worst in the Garden's history, the First Attack-but, by some strange and paradoxical alchemy, precisely because of her, it was one of _his_ best. He couldn't believe it had already been just over two years since. So much had happened.

"Alright, so listen up you two," he interrupted Cloud and Tifa's thoughts, "Let's not bring up today's events right away, okay? No need to freak Aerith out, amiright?"

"You mean don't tell her about what you did?" Tifa asked pointedly.

Zack nodded quickly, as Merlin's long house came into view, "Yeah, that."

Six or seven yards of garden, filled with all variety of flowers and vegetables, separated Merlin's front door from the cobblestone roads of the town. The gardens wrapped around the whole of the house like some sort of wide, green moat separating it from those around it. This was all Aerith's doing, and Zack could tell it had grown since he had left.

The house itself was bizarrely proportioned, blue-stone and red-roof, with one end having only a ground floor before rising, almost diagonally, into a second floor that stretched across the breadth of the whole wide house. A small third floor sat atop the second, almost like a sloppy top tier to a wedding cake. From its red roof jutted an enormous telescope pointed to the sky, which Zack always thought looked a little silly.

Other strange and unknown instruments jutted from windows or hung from eaves, serving some unknown purpose beyond Zack's comprehension. Behind the house, he could just catch sight of the large, brown barn that looked rose like an island in the Garden's moat. In it was held the most bizarre of all things to be found at house: Cid's _Highwind._

Brushing past the overzealous branches of the garden, Zack gently placed his potted acacia on the nearest sill out of view of the entry. Nodding once to Cloud and Tifa, he screwed himself up and knocked thrice at the arched, wooden door. Almost before the third knock was through, the door was swung inward and there Aerith stood, dressed in a simple white dress outlined in lavender.

Her hair was tied back in one long ponytail, leaving her bangs and two thick ringlets of brown to frame her face. Around her, out from the house, wafted the smells of freshly baked pastries and steamed vegetables, washing over them all like a wave.

In seconds, with smile wide and eyes bright, Aerith fell upon Cloud with a great hug, "I'm so glad you're home!" she welcomed him, who might as well be her own little brother by now; or perhaps even her mother. For his part, Cloud responded with a nod, the slightest hint of a smile, and his, single-handed, pat on the back—great warmth coming from Cloud's reservation. Even Zack knew he had only just begun to understand the depths of what Cloud kept hidden.

But his composure was quickly lost as Aerith cried in happiness and stretched out an arm to drag Tifa in as well, squeezing them both close. Tifa squealed and Cloud froze up slightly—but Aerith didn't notice as she cried, "Both of you!"

"But I wasn't even gone that long!" came Tifa's muffled laugh from within Aerith's grasp.

"Away from home is away from home!" Aerith tut-tutted, "No matter distance or time."

Beautiful, Zack marveled, just absolutely beautiful.

Though quite satisfied by the scene, Zack was only slightly impatient. With his small cough, Aerith turned toward him, her arms still wrapped around the young teens. Catching her mid-grin, Zack expectantly spread his hands wide and, in response, Aerith leapt into him with such a force that he was nearly knocked from his feet. Spinning her around to right their fall, Zack finally planted her back on her own two feet and grinned.

"Why so long to get to me, eh?" he asked.

Tapping his nose with her index finger, Aerith chided, "Shouldn't we save desert for last?"

"You know I've never agreed with that!" Zack exclaimed, dipping his head down to deliver a kiss to her smooth lips.

"No Rinoa or Squall?" Aerith asked as he pulled away, and Zack pulled her back for another. Finally, he recognized she was asking after her best friend (Rinoa, not Squall—Zack laughed to himself at the bizarre image of opposites Squall and Aerith as 'best friends') and really deserved an answer.

Looking briefly to Tifa and Cloud, Zack responded, "Yeah, they had some business at HQ. Rinoa sends her love!"

"And Squall his cynicism, I'm sure!" Aerith smirked ruefully, "Ah well, I suppose that just means more for all of you!"

Zack jerked his thumb at himself, "You know I can handle it!"

"We'll see about that." Aerith grabbed him by the wrist with one hand, taking Cloud with the other and, sweeping Tifa up in the motion, ushered the whole group inside the house.

Without stopping, Aerith brought them through Merlin's entryway and living room, stepping over the copious stacks of books and shelves and other odds and ends, and passing by the many comfortable armchairs and lounges scattered about like islands around the burning embers of the hearth, crackling at the most perfectly comfortable temperature—as was always the case in the house of Merlin the Wizard.

Marched through another archway, Zack and his belly delighted to see Merlin's long dining table, filled almost to overflowing. Bowls of fresh fruits, looking unreasonably crisp for this time of year, surrounded a centerpiece of steaming goose, itself in the center of a circle of golden-brown potatoes and vegetables. Each immaculately placed setting had its own bowl of noodles and cups brimming with the Garden's famously cool and clear water.

"This is amazing!" Zack cried, immediately taking the closest seat and beginning to slice himself a large cut of goose, and with it, as many potatoes as he could snatch.

"You're welcome!" Tifa responded, elevating Zack's excitement even more—Tifa could make even a rock and some leaves taste like a meal from the Bastion!

"Well, Zachary Fair, I must say, it is good to see you, as well." Came the ever-so-slight high, ever-ruffled, voice of Merlin the Wizard from the head of the table.

Fork dangling between goose and plate, Zack turned with an awkward smile for Merlin, "Merlin! It's always good to see you in such good health, at your age!"

Merlin harrumphed and shook slightly as he refilled his long, wooden pipe. "And your time away has done nothing to dispel your impertinence, I see!"

Zack smiled good-naturedly and went back to filling his plate. It was a thin line he walked with Merlin. He liked to think that they both enjoyed it.

"Thank you for keeping the goose hot for us!" Tifa thanked the old wizard, as she sat herself in the chair across from Zack while Cloud took a seat beside him.

"And thank _you_ for having such good manners, young lady!" Merlin replied, "And a welcome back to you, as well, Cloud!"

"Thank you, sir." Cloud responded shortly, as he took his seat

Aerith sighed as she observed the scene, "This is so lovely!" She took her seat beside Zack and opposite Merlin and clapped her hands. "Now that _we_ are all ready," she glared briefly at Zack, who already had a fork headed for his mouth, "Please, help yourselves!"

"Tanks, itsh delifous!" Zack replied around a mouthful.

"It sounds like it!" Aerith responded, in a tone perfected by her: sing-song positive, but in such a way that her true feelings, in this case slight distaste, were also made clear.

"So what word is there from the outer provinces?" Merlin inquired, released a puff of smoke that scented the room with incense.

"More or less normal," Zack cleared his throat, "I wish there was a little more excitement going on, but that's just me."

"All clear and quiet sounds good to me," Tifa spoke up, "That's how it should be."

"Too true, Tifa." Merlin nodded. "Exciting times are, almost necessarily, dangerous times."

"Of course." Zack replied, flashing Aerith a smile, "That's what makes them exciting."

"Let's not hope for too much danger, okay?" Aerith answered.

"Deal." Zack responded, taking a long drink of water.

"Well, things are 'more or less' normal here, as well." Merlin said, "I'm sure you saw the decorations for Princess Kairi's birthday?"

"They are beautiful, aren't they, Cloud?" Tifa asked.

Cloud nodded slightly, as he cut into his meat, "They're nice, I guess."

"Just wait until the whole town is into the swing of it!" Zack said, if only to cover Tifa's disappointed frown, "Then we'll see a real party!"

"It's just all so wonderful," Aerith sighed, "If only more things brought everyone together like that!"

"I hear you've been working on your fireworks, Merlin?" Zack asked, "Will they be ready in time?"

"Why, of course they'll be ready in time!" Merlin replied, puffing heavier on his pipe, "The only question is whether they'll be only the talk of the evening or of the whole year!"

Aerith smiled sweetly, "I'm sure they'll be-"

"Well, god- _damn!_ I had no idea that errybody was coming over tonight!"

Swinging the door from the stairwell so wide open it crashed against the back wall, Cid Highwind stumbled down from upstairs. As was always the case, a rolled cigarette hung from his mouth and his blonde hair was long and dirtied. Unshaven and blotched with dirt all over, Cid looked just a bit like a thin pig, fresh from rolling on the ground. In his hand, an unmarked liquid sloshed about in a glass bottle.

"Cloud! Good to see ya, kid!" Cid slapped the young man hard on the back, causing him almost to cough up the bite he had just taken.

"Heya Cid," Zack leaned back and clapped his shoulder.

"You sonuvabitch, welcome back!" Cid grinned, alcohol wafting on is breath, "Glad you're safe and sound."

"Will you join us, Cid?" Aerith asked, "I have some tea, if you'd like!"

"Nah, nah…thanks, though," Zack ducked under a swing of his bottle, "I've—I've got all I need right here."

He turned to wander toward the back of the house, taking a sip from his flask.

"You going to work on the _Highwind,_ then?" Zack called after him.

"Well, o'course! How could I ever give her up, eh?" Cid shouted back, as he stumbled through the far door, "Y'know, her mini-prototype is still on display in the Castle, just off the library…pretty…pretty famous, y'know…" his voice trailed off as they heard the door to the back yard open and close.

"We know." Tifa rolled her eyes at what was a constant reminder from Cid.

"Oh well," Aerith sighed, "Based on his…scent…maybe it's for the best he doesn't eat with us right now."

Zack chuckled slightly, but said no more—he knew that Cid's proclivities often provided problems for Aerith, as did his regular clashes with Merlin over aesthetic and functionality. But Cid was yet more evidence of her generous spirit-she had found him a drunk wandering the streets of the Garden, nearly freezing several winters ago. After talking with him, she had learned he had been fired from his life's work at the Shinra Interspace Project when they had decided, Zack guessed, that they didn't stand to make a large enough profit from space travel. Shinra was all about the profit, and something as romantic as space flight held nothing for them if it wasn't motivated by munny.

It had taken awhile for Aerith to coax Merlin into letting the homeless Cid sleep in the barn out back and awhile longer than that before she was able to convince both him and Zack that she could make one of the upstairs closets into a room for him. Zack had come to find that he was a good enough guy, brilliant with tools and technology, and paid for himself many times over by keeping Merlin's house and grounds in shape. He was little rough around the edges and still drank too much, but Aerith was working on that, too.

As it stood, he had essentially taken over the barn to make into his workshop where he did machine and repair work for the town in order to pay to pay for what he truly wanted, the life that Shinra had cut short: building a ship for space travel.

When he first heard it, Zack had nearly died from laughter. But Cid was deadly serious about it—he had even torn out the second floor of the barn to use as scaffolding around the ever-growing ship. Over time, Zack had slowly become convinced that Cid was actually capable of doing it and had, often enough, helped him with holding a wrench here or lifting an engine there. He made a mental note to go out back and check the progress he had made in the months Zack had been gone.

Zack couldn't help but smile to himself, taking another mouthful of goose. What a weird little group this was.

"Well, Cloud, you haven't spoken much," Merlin said, every trying to draw the pseudo-adopted boy out of his shell, "What's going on inside that head of yours?"

Cloud paused, fork having just stuck a slice of melon. "Someone died in the third district square today."

"What?!" Merlin and Aerith exclaimed simultaneously, the former's pipe nearly dropping into his beard.

Zack's eating slowed as Merlin tried to divulge more from Cloud. Aerith, who knew better, spoke up instead, "What is he talking about, Zack?"

"Well, there was a sort of hostage situation." Zack answered slowly, "Not the Tsviets!" he added, seeing the deep concern in her eyes, "Just some crazy guy. The PKF took care of it—the hostage was rescued and the guy." He paused, reminded, "The guy didn't make it." He took another bite of his meal.

"It wasn't the PKF who took care of it." Tifa suddenly spoke up, tone firmer than normal, "They were useless soldiers, like always. Zack ran in and rescued the hostage, and I bet it was the PKF who killed the guy. That's how they always 'fix' problems."

Aerith looked to Zack with a mix of confusion and what Zack called 'aggressive concern', her spoon frozen in her hand, "What _else_ happened, Zack?"

"Hey, did I mention I brought you a present—?" Zack began, remembering desperately that he had left the acacia outside. Meanwhile Cloud was actually answering Tifa.

"That's not what they—we—do." He said simply.

Tifa shook her head, "They're harsher than they have to be and you know it. They—" she paused briefly, eyes intense upon Cloud, "they take people away from home to send far away and under control. They use them."

"Am I understanding right that you ran into _another '_ situation'?" Aerith asked, face more serious.

Zack opened his mouth to defend himself, knowing that Aerith knew him well enough to have already guessed the context of what she—and Rinoa—would describe as his 'recklessness'.

"Yes, but I got the hostage out alright!"

"For a good cause." Cloud continued to respond to Tifa, obviously working hard to not make eye contact.

"No," Tifa responded, "It's not like the Cauldron Wars anymore. They don't need to take everyone here just to throw the Garden's weight around the outer provinces! It's not right."

"I do say—" Merlin tried to speak up, but no one was listening.

Zack was aware enough to know that Tifa's concerns weren't far off the mark—but he also knew Cloud well enough to know that the PKF meant more to him than it should, the kid signed up before he was of age, for god's sake! Far more importantly, though, he knew that Cloud and Tifa were arguing about something far deeper and more personal than politics.

"But someone died? What happened?" Aerith continued to push. "Are you okay?"

"I—I'm fine." He white-lied; intending to talk to her about his lingering feelings later, "And someone shot him. We're not sure who—that's why Rinoa's not here."

"Shot him?!" Aerith covered her mouth in shock—firearms were rare enough in the Garden, "Are you sure you're okay?"

"And that's what you think of Zack, Rinoa and Squall? Of me?" Cloud asked, his voice as unreadably monotone as ever.

Tifa shook her head, "No! You all are different—that's exactly why I'm worried!"

"Yes, I'm sure—" Zack responded, increasingly distracted by the escalating tension between Cloud and Tifa. This wasn't going to get worked out here and now. "Hey, I—"

Suddenly, it came to him and he scrambled to reach into his pocket, "Look what Rinoa got for us!" he announced loudly, pulling out and waving four small pieces of paper, "Tickets to Princess Kairi's birthday party!"

"What?!" Tifa and Aerith exclaimed together, taken-aback, with Cloud's voice a quiet—yet still shocked—echo behind theirs.

"Yeah!" Zack continued, excited that he had drawn their attention, "We're all invited! They'll be dancing and food and, well, all that party stuff!"

"And don't forget my fireworks!" Merlin, glad to finally speak, added. "That is marvelous news! Rinoa must be better connected than I had realized."

Tifa's mouth worked and down, "I can't believe it! That's amazing!"

Even Cloud raised a brow, although not without a flicker of anxiety.

With the tension sufficiently defused, the conversation turned to matters of parties and dress and anticipation, as Merlin regaled them all with stories of parties past: the wedding of King Aeron and Queen Gwendolyn, the birth of Princess Kairi and every birthday since—he was old enough even to recall the ascension party of King Taran and Queen Eilonwy and the founding of the Hartwell dynasty.

Zack could see that Aerith still eyed him warily, but Cloud and Tifa were fully engaged elsewhere. Equilibrium had been restored.

Zack smiled, nudged Aerith in a thrilled self-congratulation, and took another bite of his dinner.

It wasn't until much later that evening, after Cloud and Merlin took to bed and Tifa returned, he had let it all out and told Aerith everything he had seen that day—for while he was plenty experienced, no one's death ever got easier for Zachary Fair.

* * *

As the conversation continued and the evening deepened, Tifa's mind began to drift back to before Zack's announcement and felt the heat of embarrassment flush her cheeks. What had made her get in an argument with Cloud like that and mess up Aerith's dinner? That was the opposite, the super opposite, of what she wanted. She was a Martial Artist—her training should've kept her under control. She believed what she said, but it as a non-starter for Cloud, who had made the PKF his world.

She looked to Merlin, piping rapidly and happily. His wizened old face was wide with a satisfied smile—his true demeanor, so often disguised by his aged and reactive temper. Across from him Aerith, as much of a sister as she had ever imagined—the greatest gift she could never have imagined finding when her and Cloud came to Radiant Garden.

Like the gardens that were an extension of her, Aerith was a generous trellis upon which others grew—and she would've taken both her and Cloud in if only she had space—but Tifa had a job at the Seventh Heaven bar which came with a little apartment above it and Cloud needed support more than she, Besides, she basically lived here anyway. She only slept and waitressed at the bar.

It was good for him to live here, she thought as she looked at him quietly finish dinner. Before everything went wrong in Nibelheim and they had ended up on the streets together, he had stayed with her and Zangan when things weren't well.

But over the years, Cloud had changed. He had gradually been getting worse, more troubled, bent further and further inward. Coming to the Garden and finding these people had, it seemed, plateaued his descent—or something like that. But Tifa didn't know what to do. She didn't know how to help him.

Cloud…

But even if they grew apart, at least he had Zack. She smiled as she looked to him, cracking some joke she had missed that made Aerith cover her mouth with a giggle. Zack was someone Cloud could look up to (most of the time, anyway!); someone who could support him even when she wasn't there.

As Aerith finally stood to clear the table, Tifa realized she had drifted far out of the conversation. She felt somewhat awkward about sitting alone with Cloud as Aerith inevitably dragged Zack to the kitchen and Merlin dozed off, so she quickly stood and volunteered to take a plate out to Cid.

Nodding, Aerith piled a plate high and handed it off to Tifa, who quickly exited through the back of the house with only a brief, sidelong glance at Cloud—who held her gaze only for a second before looking away.

Sighing, she passed out from the pleasant warmth of Merlin's fires into the slight, fresh chill of the evening—ever-scented by Aerith's flowers, blooming for the final time this season. It was pleasant, and Tifa drew in a deep breath, cleaning and renewing her body. Just what she needed—the early fall air was her favorite.

As she pushed through the canopy of bushes and hanging vine flowers—overgrown by the standards of some, but not by Aerith's more natural standards-Tifa's mind flitted about: dread over having to work in the morning, replaying her evening training to further memorize the movements, and wondering whether she should replace the curtains in her room in some attempt to enliven and enlarge it—even if she was the only one who regularly saw it.

Mostly, she enjoyed the expectation of going to the Princess' birthday ball! It would be so beautiful, perfect, like a fairy tale! Ever since the Princess was born, she had always looked to Hollow Bastion longingly when it was so lit up and filled with people and music.

Finally, she reached the brown-sided barn that rose suddenly from Aerith's gardens. From inside, she could hear the clangs of a hammer, followed by a few muted grunts. She knocked at the somewhat thin and shoddy door.

"C'mon in!" came Cid's distinctly rough voice from within.

Tifa pushed through the creaking door and stepped into Cid's dimly lit workspace. Inside, she was surprised to see the walls lit by Merlin's magic—Cid was reluctant, some might even say suspicious, of magic. Perhaps Merlin had insisted?

In the light, she could just make out benches filled with wrenches, screwdrivers, and other tools she couldn't even begin to identify—strange shapes that she couldn't imagine what they might accomplish.

But all this was in her attention for only a short time; instead, she found herself drawn to the enormous shape that dominated the heart of the building. It stretched back into the darkness beyond her sight, and higher too, but she could see what she imagined to be the front half.

The _Highwind_ was covered in grey metal plates, of various shapes and sizes, all overlapping each other. A large, reflective window sat atop what looked almost like a long neck stretching down to a wide body of metal and machine. On the side closest to her, the plating was missing and what seemed like a hundred wires and pipes and hoses all jutted out. Stretching from either side of the body were what looked like two wings, which then turned into thick cylinders at each end—filled with concentric circles of metal and gears and belts that each rounded into a hollow center.

Tifa wasn't sure what to think; she wasn't even entirely sure what she was looking at—but though she knew nothing, there was something attractive about the ship. Perhaps it was the work that Cid was putting into it—even right now, as he pulled himself out of the center of one of those long cylinders, there was a look of surprising joy on his face. Had he really done all this himself?

"Look's like sh*t, don't she?" Cid chuckled as he watched her look over the ship.

"No, I think it—she—looks pretty, in her own way."

"You don't say?" Cid raised an eyebrow, looking down at the plate forgotten in her hands, "Did you bring that out for me?"

Tifa nodded.

"Well, I'll be damned!" he jumped down from the ladder and snatched the plate from her, "To tell ya the truth, I couldn't agree more. She's gorgeous—but most folks have their heads up their asses and can't see it. Like goddamn Shinra." He took a cut of meat from the place and stuffed it whole into his mouth.

"Seems like their loss." Tifa responded, still admiring the grand ambition of Cid's work. How could one guy, who spent half the time drunk, build a something this large? This complex? This intricate?

"I couldn't agree more, kid." Cid nodded, taking another bite, and standing back to admire the _Highwind._

"Why, though?" Tifa found herself asking, as she became aware of more and more details of the ship, "Why all this work?"

Walking over to the nearest bench, Cid placed down the plate of food and reached for a long piece of rope that hung over the bench, its other end vanishing far up into the darkness above.

"Lemme show ya." He smirked and pulled.

There was a sound of pullies rolling, followed by a long creak—and suddenly, a hole of light appeared far above in the roof of the barn. A large square of the roof folded back and, beyond it, Tifa could see the sky.

"Look at that!" Cid whistled.

"What, exactly?" Tifa asked, unsure of what he meant, though marveled by yet another contraption of his.

Cid snorted, "Sh*t, I guess your eyes still need a little work. The stars, kid."

Tifa looked again, as hard as she could. The sky above was alight in a way, perhaps, that she hadn't noticed before. Little pinpricks of light which had a moment ago just been a normal glow suddenly multiplied. Dozens and dozens sparkling lights lit the sky brilliantly—hues of violet and blue leapt alive suddenly to Tifa and. She was reminded of something she hadn't thought of in a long time, something forgotten since childhood, when she and Cloud would sit together as high in the mountains of Nibelheim as they could climb and watch the stars, unfettered by the lights of the town…

"Those stars," Cid admired, "are each further away than you could ever imagine and they each have a life all their own. All of Radiant Garden, all of the whole damn world, is just a tiny little piece of something huge." He shook his head in disbelief, "and everyone's walking around here like it's the goddamn center of the f*cking universe."

Tifa found herself struck silent by Cid's words, and—if she were honest with herself—a little surprised by their depth. It seemed to her that the stars shone with a new brilliance and a further depth than she had seen in a long time.

"And that, kiddo, is what this is all about." He walked over to place a hand on the rugged metal surface of the _Highwind_ and grinned his toothy grin, cigarette falling loosely, "We're gonna connect it all up. We'll be a part of 'em and they'll be a part of us—I just wanna join up with them stars."

"But how do you do it? All this work by yourself, just to get there?" Tifa asked, just exhausted by the thought.

"Eh…" Cid shrugged, "If you're really looking, and really seeing the beauty of it, you'll put in the time and effort to get to it." He pointed again to the sky "Why'dya think I put that in? 'cause I like the cold?" he snorted and turned for a wrench, "Naw, it's cause when ya see things how they really are, when you got eyes for the truth, that's all the motivation you're ever gonna need."

And for a long time after that, Tifa just stood and watched the stars slowly wheel overhead.


	4. For the Damaged Instruments

_**.**_

 _ **Chapter IV: For the Damaged Instruments  
**_ _Give a man a mask  
and he will show you his true face.  
~Oscar Wilde_

Xehanort hated the sky.

Yet, he couldn't tear his gaze away from it.

Certainly, were he to truly will it, he could tear himself away. He could turn and march off the balcony—one of many that jutted out from Hollow Bastion-and back into the warm light of the room behind him, where his brothers and father talked. He could return from the brisk chill of the evening and intermittent light of Radiant Garden below and into the comfortable and bright interior of the Bastion.

But the stars ever pulled at him, and he hated them for it. They were ceaseless reminders; nagging voices mocking his limitation. They were the living manifestation of the half-remembrances of a life that eluded him: literally and figuratively out of reach. The stars were alike to his memories, both the worst kind of mystery, for they were each hopeless. He would no more ever reach the stars than he would ever recover his own memories, his identity; who he was before Ansem found him a shivering youth at the castle gates.

Perhaps that was why he had thrown himself so fully into the sciences of his father, he mused, driven to surpass the knowledge and excellence of Even. Science was _knowing._ Science was _understanding._ Perhaps a part of him hoped that in science, he would finally find the certainty that he sought; some answer that would fill the gaping hole that was his identity. Something that would rescue him from the torment of the constant _déjà vu_.

Everything felt relived; everything reminded him of something he couldn't remember. It was like a splinter he could not remove, or a face he couldn't quite place that kept haunting him in the crowd. He'd see it and turn, only for it to have vanished. There was never rest or relief, just the eternal vigil of looking for something he didn't even know the shape or name of.

And so Xehanort accepted the taunt of the stars, hardly noticing how his grip upon the stone balustrade was turning white. They were his most ceaseless torment—yet, he could not tear himself away from them. He couldn't help but scowl as he considered that he was like a pathetic child, whipped and beaten by his parents, only to crawl back to them hoping for some small kindness.

"Xehanort!" his father called, "Come say goodnight to Kairi!"

Xehanort straightened himself, adjusting his neatly buttoned white coat and purple ascot, and turned back into the lounge, small by the Bastion's standards, but where they had ended up that evening.

Even sat as far from the group as possible, some book or manual comfortably in hand. Ienzo, unknown to Xehanort it seemed, had been standing just beside the balcony doors, watching him silently with that single eye, uncovered by his long silver hair. Dilan and Aeleus stood on either side of Ansem, the former appearing somewhat impatient and the latter as stone-faced and unreadable as ever. Each's large bulk made the old man appear small, even shrunken, leaving the young Princess yawning in his arms to appear even tinier than the almost-five-year old already was.

Braig stood between them, pinching the young princess' cheek, "Nighty-night, kiddo."

She giggled, even as she swatted Braig's bony fingers away. In the doorway stood the Queen Mother, Eilonwy, stooped over her wooden cane. Her wizened eyes, quite contracted by age, examined him. Xehanort inclined himself slightly, "Your Majesty, I was unaware you had arrived."

"Xehanort." She acknowledged him with a small nod, which bounced the heap of grey hair piled atop her head, "No need for such formalities. I'm only here for my granddaughter, as I am not certain which of us would be more disappointed to miss her bedtime story!"

Xehanort smiled slightly at the old queen, before turning to the young princess who squirmed in the broad arms of Ansem.

"Sir, I must insist, we have to discuss the terrori—" Dilan suddenly began, his impatience getting the best of him.

"Hush!" Ansem turned sharply, as he bounced Kairi to distract her, "Not before such malleable ears. Patience, my son."

Leaning forward slightly to meet Kairi's eyes, he patted her lightly on the head.

"Goodnight, Princess Kairi."

"I don…." She yawned, "I don't wanna go to bed..."

"Well, think of it this way," Xehanort offered, "Going to bed will make tomorrow come faster."

"Yeah! That's right!" Braig interjected, almost tossing himself to lean on Xehanort's shoulder, "and what'll we be closer to then, eh?!"

Kairi's deep blue, almost violet, eyes lit up. "My birthday!"

"Exacta-mundo!" Braig exclaimed, placing his hand up for a high-five from Xehanort that never came.

Shrugging Braig off, Xehanort nodded, "So you see, going to bed is actually quite exciting."

With the fiercely dedicated nod of a child, Kairi allowed herself to be passed along to her grandmother, who received her with still-strong arms, "I appreciate you giving her up so willingly this time, Ansem."

"Goodbyes are always difficult." Ansem replied with a smile, "Especially when one has so captured your heart."

The Queen Mother's eyes danced, as she smiled at the yawning child in her arms, "She has captured many hearts beyond yours, and will certainly capture many more."

Turning to the rest of them, the Queen Mother inclined her head slightly, "Aeleus, Ienzo, Braig, Dilan, Even, Xehanort—rest well." She smiled as she turned, "That is, if any of you rest at all."

Kairi lifted her head slightly as they passed the doorway together and, waving goodnight over her shoulder to the entire lounge, she was gone. Ansem, though, continued to look after where she had vanished.

"Sir, I—" Dilan began again immediately, before realizing Ansem had not yet heard him, "Sir, as I was saying, Aeleus and I have—"

"Eh, what's that, Dilan?" Ansem asked, as if startled.

"As I was saying, sir, Aeleus and I have reached a disagreement regarding the…" Dilan paused, "proactivity of our strategy."

"To deal with the terrorists, you mean?" Ansem asked, tone now solemn as he moved to sit in the closest chair.

"Indeed. I am convinced that they are supplied primarily by malcontents in Wutai and we must move…" Dilan glanced to Aeleus, "…decisively in order to make our position clear."

"Damn easties," Braig muttered, purposely ruffling Ienzo's hair as he moved to lean beside him, "It'd be just like them."

"Wutai has always been eager to certify its independence," Even finally spoke up, as Xehanort expected of him whenever there was an opportunity to display his knowledge, "Shall I remind anyone of the Liberation Riots following the Cauldron War?"

"As if-I gotcha covered!" Braig straightened himself up, pushing up imaginary glasses, "Blahdablah, blahbleeblah, bleh."

"Not exactly." Even frowned.

"The point is, we know the Tsviets are supplied in the outer settlements." Dilan retracked the conversation, "Wutai has the most resources, most opportunity, and most motivation. We must come down harder on them."

Xehanort could sense Ansem's distaste, but he knew he would never immediately shut down an idea. Well, except one, apparently. The only one that would allow him to find what he sought.

"Aeleus?" the Lord Protector inquired, stroking his golden—yet slightly greying—beard.

"The evidence linking the Tsviets and Wutai is tenuous." Aeleus supplied in his deep monotone, without change in expression, "To antagonize them without sufficient reason would be foolish."

Dilan pressed Aeleus with some follow-up question, which Aeleus managed to answer in an impressive three words, but Xehanort's attention was drifting. Something about the way the light drifted in from the hall and mixed with the light of the moon and stars was grabbing him, reminding him—something about this moment was missing. Something he should know wasn't there.

A dizziness began to creep up on the back of his mind; the pressure of memories forgotten threatening to collapse upon him. What was it? What was he to know? Why couldn't he look deeper into that darknes—

"Xehanort, what do you think?" Ansem's voice suddenly called him back to reality, and he was being asked to provide his own considerations on the disagreement.

Xehanort himself was mostly unconcerned with the terrorists. To his mind, there was little that could be done about such a small group. Such things will always exist, and if they were to squash these, another would emerge. It was the way of humans—constant bickering, warring, fighting. Something from some lost memory told him that. This was a story that had been on repeat for millenia.

But that answer would not have been satisfactory, and Xehanort had long ago learned the preferences and 'wisdom' of his father.

"I believe our experiments have great relevancy to this question." He began thoughtfully.

"As always…" Braig sighed.

Xehanort continued, "The darkness that naturally occurs in the heart is a dangerous thing that must be closely watched and wisely controlled," he said, nearly parroting lines heard from Ansem many, many times, "We must be very careful not to stoke or encourage its growth in the hearts of the populace." He turned to Dilan, "Such a move against Wutai would most certainly exacerbate it. I must agree with Aeleus."

"It seems to me that allowing possibly hundreds to die in another attack would also exacerbate the darkness, don't you think?" Dilan challenged, face stony.

"I do not believe the data supports you," Xehanort continued, turning to absent-mindedly examine a shelf of books, "Quite the contrary, suffering—while tragic—tended to quarantine the heart's darkness in its…victims." he watched surreptitiously watched Ansem's reaction as he spoke, "So long as it was allowed the space and resources to be processed, festering was precluded."

Dilan scowled slightly, knowing that Xehanort had claimed the scientific and moral high ground in one deft move. For his part, Xehanort only hoped that such an application of their past work would further convince Ansem it was worth pursuing again.

Ansem nodded, "My, Xehanort, if the experiments had taught you that, perhaps there was a single ounce of value to them."

Xehanort bowed slightly, hiding any irk, "Thank you, sir."

But he knew Ansem was only making a passing compliment. There was, disappointingly, no intention to return to their mission. He turned back to Aeleus and Dilan, speaking as if writing an expository commentary on Xehanort's words. Satisfied in his disappoint, Xehanort's attention drifted, yet again.

Once, Ansem had fully comprehended the importance of their research- an idea birthed soon after Xehanort's arrival. As the five of them had been studying the Cauldron War in their classes, Ienzo had raised the question—to what extent had the atrocities of the war been due to the Horned King's evil influence or to the darkness hidden in every heart? Something about that question had struck Xehanort deeply, awakening in him that first tormenting half-remembrance.

Ienzo had struck on something meaningful; it was Even who proposed a proper study; and it was Xehanort who volunteered to be their first subject. Something about it had drawn him; the same kind of feeling that fueled his hatred of the stars had entangled him.

Ansem had been hesitant, but the possibility of such knowledge and the pedagogical opportunities proved sufficiently convincing. They had long known that the heart—not the biological blood pump, of course, but part of the conscious being-was something quantifiable, measurable in some immature way by machines which they had devised. In the heart, they had also been able to measure what the ancient texts identified as "light" and "darkness"; powers, forces or perhaps states, of the heart.

The trouble, for Xehanort and his brothers, was this plague of ill-defined terms. The ancient texts were maddeningly vague and amorphous, almost mystical, in how they talked about tripartite being-heart, body and mind or soul. Of these, they spoke mostly of hearts: the heart of the person, the heart of the world, the heart of all worlds; even the sum heart of the universe, reverently referred to as "Kingdom Hearts".

The texts, residing in the Bastion from time immemorial, moved fluidly between primordial science and metaphor; the same paragraph would go from describing the function of a heart to how they are always separate, locked away, as if behind a keyhole. There were hearts of darkness, whatever that might mean, and distinct hearts of pure light, quantified by mystical and superstitious numbers like seven. More often than not, it was all indecipherable in calligraphy or semantics.

And while Ansem seemed simply curious about the mystique and indefinite, it drove Xehanort mad. Just like the stars, the nature of the heart, of being, was close enough to taste, yet far enough away that it could never be absorbed. Hearts. Stars. Memories. Kingdom Hearts. That was his unfulfillable life.

It was a hunger, gnawing and insatiable, which had long devoured him.

When he had volunteered to be their guinea pig, the rest had only vaguely understood this.

And so the tests began.

They tried to manipulate the darkness and the light, artificially increasing what they could measure. They tested hypothesis after hypothesis—those days seemed to all pass in a blur. Their minds had raced to puzzle together pieces and dream up newer, more rigorously scientific methodologies. Ansem had stood proudly as his adopted sons became expert researchers in their own right, applying effectively all that he had taught them. Ienzo proposed expanding the laboratories underneath the castle to accommodate the ever-complicating experiments. They now tested extracted darkness and, in all the space, worked independently of Ansem when he could no longer be waited for.

Then Xehanort had suggested they test under stress: psychological, emotional, physiological. Ansem had held reservations, but the others had, with solemn vote, agreed it was the necessary next step. Xehanort remembered those suffering moments well, when he had caught more than a brief glimpse. He had seen something, something in the darkness. There was something familiar arising from his own heart, some memory becoming whole—and he saw it then. A heart. THE Heart.

But then, through his screaming, he had heard Ansem insist that they end the experiment. Roaring, he had demanded they continue. He had begged, cajoled, and wept as he tore at his bonds, insisting that they continue. That he _needed_ them to continue. But Ansem had refused, using his Master Control authority to lockdown their equipment through the TRON program. Ansem had dragged him from the laboratory himself, as Xehanort had continued to weep and scream and plead. Such uncharacteristic action from him, he understood looking back, only hardened Ansem's resolve to 'protect' him.

Xehanort was suddenly dragged back to the present by Ansem, still pronouncing what he himself perceived to be profound truths-but to Xehanort, were but meaningless irrationality: "Yet, though, we must never forget the true lesson of those days. Principle over practice; the good over the disturbed." He raised an eyebrow at Xehanort, "Some darknesses are too deep for us to delve."

Xehanort nodded as naturally as he could manage. It was a tragedy to observe the great Ansem devolve into a foolish dotard who the feared the darkness and preferred the light, as if they had any meaning beyond natural forces. It would be as pathetic, he imagined, to observe an old man afraid of gravity or the energy manipulation called 'magic'. There were few greater depths to which a great scientist could fall than to be afraid of unpurposed natural forces. Once a great man, he had aged into an impoverished fool who cringed away from progress, unable ever again to fully commit.

Without waiting for response, Ansem rose to his feet with a sigh, "With that, let us consider this evening closed. Aeleus," he beckoned toward the tall man, "will you please accompany me to discuss more fully your strategy?"

"Indeed." Aeleus responded and, with a nod to his fellows, trailed Ansem from the lounge and into the winding hallways of the Bastion.

"Good night, my sons. Rest well." was Ansem last call, echoing after him.

Xehanort continued to passively watch the doorway Ansem had vanished through. When had their relationship gone so wrong? When had such a gulf emerged between them? It could only be when Xehanort had realized, shaking alone in his room the night of their final experiment, how differently they saw the world. When he realized Ansem was not as dedicated to the plan, to the truth, to the future—his and the whole world's- as he was.

It had been the end when Xehanort had realized that he had walked out ahead of his master and father and found the ground far more secure than he had been warned. When Ansem had given him a taste of truth and torn it away from him, like a fainthearted groom at the altar.

So Xehanort had continued the mission himself.

"Are we ready to go then?" Even intoned, raising a thin eyebrow of the ridge of his book.

Xehanort had started with him. It had taken very little convincing, for as soon as Xehanort had mentioned the effect the experiments had on his hidden memories—Even's specialty—the studious academic had thrown in his full support.

"Indeed." Xehanort responded, eyes still locked on the doorway. It had only taken a bit of work, a little touch of programming, to design a Master Control Program to supersede that of their father and a few educated guesses to log into the TRON system under his credentials.

"So we've got one down their now, eh?" Braig asked, shoving himself off the wall.

Braig had been the next to join up in their subterfuge. As one of Ansem's oldest, he had long been bored by where the old man had been taking them. Going behind his back for a little adventure was exactly what he had needed to enliven the long days.

It had been his idea to extend the experiments to other beings beyond Xehanort, when they were desperate in the face of what seemed to be a developing tolerance in Xehanort to the rigors of the experiments.

They were already too deep and invested to abandon them—they had come to agree: the good of the whole world was at stake in their work; thus it demanded every terrible price.

"Indeed." Xehanort answered again, eyes still on the door as he pushed back against the swarming sensation of something missing.

Dilan brushed past him and through the doorway, "Then let's be on with it. We're wasting time here."

And it had been Dilan who found their first subjects. As the functional head of the PKF, along with Aeleus, word had reached Dilan of malfeasance at the Shinra Corporation. Illicit experiments and human testing. Their chief researcher, Hojo, was a crude and self-obsessed man, but he at least vaguely shared a similar vision to Xehanort, or perhaps at last only a piece of it.

Hiding the reports from the more immature Aeleus, Dilan had struck an expert deal with Hojo—the reports would disappear and the PKF's investigations would conveniently end if Shinra took subjects only from the furthest and quietest outer provinces—only the most unwanted, the criminals, the most unmissable of society. If Shinra followed those rules, and passed along a few of those resources to the Bastion, they would be allowed to continue their profitable science.

In essence, like any good ruler, they had regulated Shinra's industry under stringent guidelines and, simultaneously, they had secured a most precious research for their study of hearts to go forward. Xehanort had been proud—it was under similar practical grounds that he had first convinced Dilan to join them. The practicality of their research would be immense—world-changing. The lives of the criminals and parasites that were used in the process were elevated by their sacrifice.

Imagine it—if the darkness could be isolated and captured; put to work in the service of the greater good? If light and darkness could be enslaved to the people, rather than the other way around—imagine the flourishing life possible. Imagine the great victory of the Garden—of Humanity, over these primal forces!

Even and Braig followed after Dilan, until it was just Ienzo left staring at him—still standing beside the open balcony doors.

Xehanort had been hesitant to bring Ienzo, so young, into their work. He was close with Aeleus, and Xehanort certainly did not want him finding out—he was utterly untrustworthy. But Ienzo, a genius boy, had worked it out himself and caught them all in the basement labs, in the midst of splitting a single heart between dark and light.

They had stared in shock at the young boy and Braig had released a torrent of swears, but Ienzo had only watched for a moment before offering a corrective suggestion, a corrective that still echoed in Xehanort's mind to the present:

' _Why cut with so careful resolve? The heart does not split willingly.'_

"Have they been nourished today?" Ienzo finally asked, breaking his single-eyed stare with Xehanort.

"Not yet. Do you wish to?" Xehanort responded, turning through the door to catch up with the others as the boy trailed behind.

"I may as well." came the reply.

Together, then, the group of five, champions willing to sacrifice for the progress of civilization, heroes bent on moving society beyond the vague ambiguities of the ancient stories, descended the maze of hallways and tunnels that filled the Bastion, down the elegant stone elevators powered by gravity magic, down past the throne room and many ball rooms; past the numerous living quarters, deeper even than the great entrance hall, with its intricately carved sweeping double-staircase, bubbling fountain and glittering chandelier.

It was late, so very few servants walked the halls. Any that did meet them simply bowed in respect and allowed them to pass by. Xehanort himself was lost in thought—as he often was as he walked through the castle, doing his best to distract his mind from the onslaught of partial memories by considering some new problem or theorem.

"Even, have you theorized any further regarding which force holds pre-eminence?" Dilan asked quietly, as they moved swiftly across the elevated gallery which ran along the back of the Entrance Hall toward the Grand Library.

"Considering the inevitable end of ninety-seven point three percent of all our subjects, Dilan, it would seem obvious, don't you think?" Even sneered, "Conservation of energy—it cannot gain or become more than it already possessed."

Soon after Ienzo had discovered them, the five of them had reached the point of no return; the irreversible moment when their first great breakthrough had occurred. In the midst of a particularly strenuous experiment, the heart had simply collapsed. None of them had seen anything like it. One moment, the man had been writhing on the table under their ministrations—the next, his heart was gone, his body absent, and in its place crouched a small, dark creature.

Shriveled, angular feet supported a small, round body and bulbous head from which two twisted antenna rose. Darkness itself seemed to seep from the creature, its entire physical form absorbing all light around it in a horrifying display. Ienzo had aptly described it as what one might imagine standing beside a black hole to be like. It was empty. Voracious. Instinctual. Only two beady yellow eyes glared from its head, as its body jerked about, twisting and turning unnaturally, as if reacting to unseen, yet constant, stimuli.

Braig had opened his mouth to speak, but the creature had suddenly jumped at him, swiping at him with what they could then see were dangerously sharp, black claws. Braig had cried out and dove beneath the table. Xehanort had reached out to restrain the creature, but his hand found nothing to grab upon—only bitter cold and vacuous darkness—and he, too, was forced to jerk away before the creature snapped at him. It had been Dilan who pierced it through with one of their long scalpels, carving it from head to toe. It had stumbled for a moment, writhing, before dissipating into a thin dark mist.

Xehanort and Even had insisted they repeat the process, despite Braig's cowardly objections, and capture the creature. The next had proven elusive, able to flatten itself out and move like a shadow across the floor, escaping from any cage they attempted to imprison it in. Ienzo and Even had worked furiously together to repurpose one of the labs into a holding chamber, filled with mechanisms and enchanted with magic that kept the creatures contained.

It had worked, mostly. It had taken several tests of trial and error-particularly when they had learned that it was in their best interest to keep the creatures satiated with something that had a heart. Occasionally, the failed experiments they didn't return to Hojo were a feast-mostly they subsisted on animal offerings. In one of the most hazardous points of their tests, a shadow had escaped and fed upon a kitchen maid. Luckily, Braig had stumbled upon it before anyone else and summarily ended what they had come to call "the Heartless"—named for its appearance when the heart failed.

More dangerous than they could've ever expected, yet promising more knowledge and opportunity than they could've ever dreamed, the discovery of the Heartless was both their greatest blessing and most nightmarish curse. None of them had ever slept soundly since, knowing what lurked in the darkness of the castle's hidden basements.

Xehanort, though, had never slept soundly—so the new trouble bothered him less. Indeed, there was a small comfort to him: such a horrifying result had ever-more ensured that none of his fellows would dare reveal their secret work to Ansem. It had dragged all of them deeper into the bonds of secrecy and more furious research. They had found _results._

"Xehanort?" Even impatiently interrupted from the histories he had been rehearsing, stories which he had found effective distractions from the ever-present assaults of his memory-less mind, "The MCP?"

Xehanort nodded, seeing now that they had reached the final, loneliest of bookshelves in the enormous grand library. Selecting the specific texts necessary, the heavy shelf shifted just a few inches away from the wall behind it. Reaching behind, Xehanort input the code, known only to him, which activated the MCP and allowed their final descent to the deepest, underground portions of the Castle basements.

When Ansem had sealed the labs from their main entry beside his study, they had been forced to find alternative routes into the basement. Xehanort told the others that he had found a way by chance, when it reality, he had been drawn there by something he didn't quite yet understand. Another hidden mystery, wrapped deep in his subconscious. He hadn't told them that, for they were not ready. His brothers were useful enough, but were still trailing too far behind. Their immaturity deeply disturbed Xehanort.

With a click, the system responded and the shelf slid wider—just wide enough for the five of them to slip through into the small gravity elevator they had installed themselves. With another click, the shelf sealed behind them and their descent into the Castle's bowels began.

"I believe I have worked out several more of the equations necessary to begin artificial production," Even boasted, now in the relative safety of the Castle's depths. "We shall soon have more than enough Heartless to study."

Braig snorted, "Not that they'll have a whole lotta use to anyone other than us. Not so long as the plebs, including dear ole' pops, agrees with the mumbo jumbo Eraqus preaches about light."

"Given enough time and evidence, it is quite possible that Eraqus' religious devotion to light will be shown for the illusion it is." Ienzo replied.

"You're too hopeful, kid." Braig nudged him, "They'll never get it like we do."

"Eraqus won't be around forever," Dilan replied, "He and his apprentices are but useful assets for the PKF. Their foolish projections about light and dark will pass away when our work is complete."

"We needn't speak of him anymore." Xehanort grimly interrupted, casting the elevator back into silence. Eraqus, and the Keyblades which he and his apprentices bore, were a particularly acute affliction for him. Something about those mysterious weapons echoed endlessly around his head, making unbearable his miserable yearning to know.

Besides, Xehanort himself could not care less whether the common person, Aeleus, Eraqus, or even Ansem, ever came to the truth as he had. All that mattered to him was finding the truth himself and finally, truly, understanding himself and put such knowledge to use. His 'partners' could philosophize endlessly about everything else, for all he cared.

Finally, the elevator ceased its descent and opened into the sterilized, white rooms of their laboratory complex. Immediately, Even and Braig stepped off the platform and, with only a brief look to the chained and barred door across from the elevator, took the halls to the right. There, they were to further develop their machine to artificially create Heartless.

Xehanort, Ienzo and Dilan took instead the left hall, walking past door after door, filled with machine and tools that would, at this point, be utter mysteries even to Ansem. They had moved so far beyond him that these labs would be wholly unrecognizable.

Finally, they reached a room made of clear glass. Inside, tables of instruments and beeping machines surrounded a single bed upon which a human form weekly struggled.

Without word, the three of them passed through a glass door, which retracted with a hiss. Xehanort approached the table first, examining the restrained figure. He had unkept auburn hair, which swept across his head, and his skin was pale and white beneath his tattered clothing. He had been sedated, but still struggled weakly against the restraints that kept him locked to the bed.

Dilan scoffed as he rolled up the sleeves of his military vestments and wrapped his mask around his face. "What a pitiful reject Hojo has sent us this time."

Xehanort, not caring to contest Dilan's typical judgmentalism, also tied up his white surgical mask and reached for the first of his tools. Ienzo stood at a ready beside him, his unhidden blue eye meeting the surprisingly bright aquamarine of the subject's. Xehanort was impressed with how awake those eyes still appeared. Dilan had judged this one too harshly.

Seeing the tools in hand, the subject began to squirm more violently—or, at least, that's what he intended to do. Due to their previous work, all the efforts of the man resulted only in a few twists of his wrist and a bulging of the neck muscles. They had tried to work on unconscious subjects before, but the darkness and light couldn't be manipulated as well in those cases. Xehanort had concluded this was because, as always, truth must come through pain—just as he had experienced.

Lifting the first knife, Xehanort paused. This first cut was always, still, the hardest to make. There was no pleasure in it. It was truly an unfortunate way of things. This way was certainly not his preference, but it was truly the only way forward.

"Let us begin." Xehanort announced.

The man attempted to scream, but it only came out in mild groans and shrieks. Xehanort had long become accustomed to such responses and was entirely unbothered, for he knew that if any noise were to somehow escape their laboratory, it would most certainly be muffled and forcibly drowned by the endless, twisting halls of Hollow Bastion.


	5. Questions

_**.**_

 _ **Chapter V: Questions**_ _ **  
**_ _Never underestimate a man  
who overestimates himself.  
~Franklin D. Roosevelt_

"Zack." Cloud's quiet voice accompanied his brief knock on the apartment door, above the 7th Heaven.

Zack, raising his head slightly from the pillow, squinted in the morning light, "C-Cloud? What time is it?"

"Eight thirty-two." Cloud responded, equally brief as his knocks.

Zack sighed. When he was on duty, he was proudly up at dawn. But this was supposed to be vacation! Restful! Relaxed! In a word: sleeping in.

"What's up?" he rolled onto his back and shouted through the door of his single, nearly empty, room. Aside from his bed—which was mostly just a mattress-Zack's apartment held only a single bureau, upon which was only a single picture of him and Aerith, when he had taken her up to the broad fields of the North, with their great festivals.

A long mirror hung on the wall across from him, with The First Tsurugi's six sharp pieces lay spread out on a small table beside it—Zack had been cleaning it the night before. A small icebox, kept cold by the Garden's signature mix of magic and technology, held a few morsels of leftover food which Aerith had sent him home with the night before. That was it—simple, minimal, and no stress—just as Zack liked it.

"Rinoa sent me to get you." Cloud answered.

Zack sighed, "Well, you can remind Rinoa that all of us—her included!—" he emphasized, "should be on leave right now!" he paused, "Speaking of that, what are you doing working?"

Cloud didn't immediately respond. "What else would I do?"

Zack sighed again, pulling himself up to sit. The poor kid needed a life! "Tell you what—you come with me today and I'll give you some options."

Cloud seemed to mull it over longer than Zack had expected. "What Rinoa wants is important."

Zack gave one last enormous sigh and finally stood to his feet. "It always is—"

"It's about yesterday." Cloud finally added.

Suddenly, Zack's early-morning mind was transported back to the day before. The boutique, the crazed man, the assassination—a chill of mixed anxiety and excitement ran through him as he dashed for the door. Cracking it open, he looked down at the sharply dressed Cloud.

"Why didn't you start with that?" Zack asked.

Cloud met his gaze with almost ice-blue eyes. "Commander Aeleus wants to speak with you."

"What?!" Zack exclaimed, leaving the door to swing open as he flew to the bureau to dress, "What did he say?"

"I don't know." Cloud responded, standing resolute in the doorway.

"Real helpful, Cloud…" Zack murmured as he ruffled through his clothes; of course Rinoa didn't tell him anything. "Hey, would you mind putting the Tsurugi back together for me?"

He offhandedly gestured to the six sharp blades splayed out atop the table, leading Cloud to glance between it and Zack.

"C'mon, you know how—go on!" Zack encouraged as he changed shirts. Cloud had watched him combine it a million times. "After all, it'll be yours one day, just like with me!"

Finally, Cloud nodded and moved to assemble the weapon, handling each piece with precise care. Zack smiled as he watched him work—he was proud of what his apprentice could do, even he was a little obsessive. And maybe, wherever he was, Angeal was proud of him, too—it wasn't every day that you were summoned by PKF top brass!

* * *

"I wish you had let Aerith dress you…" Rinoa groaned as she kept pace with Zack, hurriedly brushing at his shoulder pads and straightening his shirt. As she went to tuck back some of his wild, black hair, Zack slapped her hand away.

"It's gonna be fine, Rinoa! Right, Squall? It's fine."

"Maybe. _Maybe_ it'll be fine." Squall responded.

"Has it even occurred to you that this could, in fact, be a summons for reprimand?" Rinoa tried to dampen Zack's ear-to-ear grin as they passed through the lower halls of Hollow Bastion, reserved for the use of PKF leadership. "You were incredibly reckless."

"Nope, never even entered my mind!" Zack countered.

"Few things enter that head." Squall noted, as Rinoa snorted.

"You're gonna just let them attack me like this, Cloud?" Zack asked, laughing, but Cloud didn't respond—he was trailing behind them, caught up in the majesty of the Bastion's great halls and ornate architecture.

Zack himself had only been inside the Bastion a few times before and never this deep. To his eyes, it had appeared a little more jovial, even this deep, as servants bustled about with preparations for the Princess' birthday the day after tomorrow.

"Oh my! Is this your first time in the Castle?" Rinoa asked. Cloud, hearing her better than he did Zack it seemed, nodded.

"Congratulations! It's about time you saw inside!" Rinoa clapped happily, attention turned from Zack, "It's beautiful, isn't it? A thousand-years standing—it's certainly a testament to its builders!"

"Whoever they were…" Squall murmured.

"Is this it?" Zack asked, as the group pulled up to a large oaken door that matched the description a servant had given them.

Rinoa nodded, "I think so."

Zack reached up a fist to knock, but before he could, the door was pulled open and filled with the giant form of a man—easily twice, almost thrice, Zack's size. His shoulders nearly brushed against each side of the door's frame and his square face appeared carved from stone, topped with dark red hair, brushed-back so as to appear almost like an eruption.

His expression did not change as his small, blue eyes looked over Zack—who gulped noticeably and realized he should have prepared something, anything, to say.

"Zachary Fair?" Commander Aeleus' deep voice inquired.

"Yup." Zack responded quickly, before immediately kicking himself for being so casually himself. He could almost feel Rinoa and Squall's eyes burning holes in the back of his head. "And, er, this is my apprentice, Cloud Strife."

Commander Aeleus looked over Cloud briefly, without either speaking. With a nod, he then acknowledged the others, "Captain Heartilly; Lieutenant Leonhart," and, changing whole swaths of lighting as he moved, Aeleus turned into the room beyond the door.

Zack looked to the others for encouragement, but received only a shameful shake of the head from Rinoa and a frown from Squall. Exhaling, Zack followed the Commander.

Inside the room, flickering by the light of many Fira magic torches, was a long mahogany table, covered in maps and stacks of official documents. The walls, as well, were filled with a variety of listings, orders and assorted assignments.

As Aeleus circled to return to the head of the table, Zack noticed that they were not alone—Commander Dilan sat, legs crossed, in one of the only two chairs at the head. He did not acknowledge the four of them entering; his dark eyes were focused on a folder of documents he was perusing.

Zack tried to steady his breathing. Not just one Commander, but two?! Short of the Royalty and Lord Protector, Zack was now sharing the same space as the ultimate authorities over the PKF-Aeleus, who held sway over domestic defense and other concerns, and Dilan, who oversaw foreign affairs and external projects. These men were _heroes_ —and every private ever to join the PKF looked up to them.

Zack recalled his own training when, in the bunks at night, he and his peers would tell tales of these two—how Dilan had personally led the final victory over the last scattered remnants of the Horned King's empire, fighting amidst the heat of the battle with his twin spears; or how Aeleus, wielding his iron hammer—too heavy for any other man—fended off the hordes of Nibel Wolves that had descended from the northern tundra during the Long Winter, many seasons ago. These were true heroes; men of renown!

"Sirs!" Zack stood formally and saluted. Cloud followed suite, with Rinoa and Squall offering their own; somewhat more casually.

"Corporal Fair, this is regarding your role in the Third District incident yesterday." Dilan made immediately clear, without looking up from his papers.

Aeleus, without any fanfare or intonation, went straight to the point, "You are being promoted to the rank of Investigator, effective immediately, and will be made directly responsible for the ensuing enquiry into what occurred and why."

Shock coursed through Zack, tingling from the tips of his toes to the top of his head. Investigator? That was a special appointment—not just a promotion, but authority over his own assignment! This was unbelievable! Better than he could've dreamed!

"Our estimation is that this will be a relatively minor case," Dilan added, "But if completed to the standards we have come to expect from you, based on Captain Heartilly's reports, you may expect a more…permanent position."

"S-sirs," Zack stumbled, "T-thank you, sirs."

Aeleus acknowledged his gratitude with a brief nod, "It is suggested that you inquire with Master Eraqus. He has been looking into matters relevant to Shinra, as well."

"Is the Shinra Corporation our prime suspect then, Commander?" Zack asked.

"He did not say that." Dilan responded, eyes briefly flitting up to Zack's. "Your oversight extends to two question: first, do the accusations you heard bear any merit, and two, who is responsible for this death."

"Lunatics are not often assassinated for their ravings." Aeleus intoned. "For the present, however, Shinra is merely a relevant party."

"Banon, sir." Zack responded.

"What?" Aeleus responded. Zack could hear a sharp intake of breath from Squall behind him.

"The lunatic, sir. His name." Zack repeated, "His name was Banon."

Aeleus' raised an eyebrow, though Dilan responded, an edge to his deep voice, "Good to see your investigation already begun. Are there any more corrections?"

He gave no response.

"Then you are all dismissed." Aeleus nodded and picked up his own pile of folders.

With another salute, Zack turned and marched from the room, the other three following behind. As soon as the door closed behind them, Zack took a single breath before pumping his fist with a whoop.

"Investigator? Investigator?! Haha!" he cried, already fallen into his habitual squats, "Can you believe it? This is my chance!"

"Congratulations!" Rinoa exclaimed, clapping her hands together, "We know you can do it!"

"Apparently reckless worked. Once." Squall crossed his arms.

"Would you believe that, Cloud?" Zack jumped to his feet and hooked his elbow around the youth's neck, "How's it feeling working under a real-life investigator, huh?"

A faraway look in Cloud's eye, which seemed oddly preoccupied with somethings a-ways down the semi-lit hallway, muted his reply. "I…don't know yet."

"Eh?" Zack prodded, turning Cloud to face him, "C'mon, if you think it's been good up to now—things are about to get way more interesting!"

"Y-yeah!" Cloud nodded, eyes now on Zack, "Definitely!"

For a brief moment Zack felt concern for that distracted look in Cloud's eyes, but the feeling was soon surpassed by the overwhelming excitement of his new promotion! Imagine if he cracked this case? Deaths like this were rare in the Garden and, by now, the whole town had heard of what happened. Get justice for Banon and fame in the process? That was an opportunity not to be passed up. He couldn't wait to tell Aerith!

"Well, Mr. Investigator, what's your first move?" Rinoa asked, eyes twinkling.

"They've still got the scene sectioned off, right?" Zack replied, ignoring the slight pit that formed in his stomach imagining it back there, "I'd say that's where any good investigation starts!"

* * *

Zack took a deep breath as he emerged back into the open air of the Third District square. Cordoned off, the boutique was still rather dark and filled with stale air—not unlike his memory of what had occurred there. He hadn't enjoyed it, but his personal comfort was not a part of the job.

As she passed him, Rinoa waved the small bullet casing she held in a cloth, "Remember, it's normally the smallest things that mean the most!"

"So you'll get it checked out?" Zack re-confirmed, wanting to double-check all his bases, "Find out who made it?"

Squall nodded, "We'll have our labs work double time on it."

"Thanks." Zack responded, a slight measure of disappointment clear in his voice. There had been very little else to be found at the boutique—only the disturbed merchandise and small spray of blood around the hole where the bullet had lodged gave any indication that yesterday had ever happened.

Even the Banon's knife, appearing so dangerous in the dark, was actually little more than a remarkably dull kitchen knife; well-used by the look of it. The only thing that could truly be called evidence was that small bullet that now lay in the pocket of Rinoa's blue overcoat.

And that was not enough for Zachary Fair—neither to satisfy his query nor quell the anxiety that stirred in his gut over being back here.

"Not every step is prestigious, Zack." Rinoa comforted with a sly wink.

"Yeah, yeah, I know…" Zack responded, "Just let me know as soon as you hear something!"

"Of course!" Rinoa bowed gracefully, "Keep a good eye on him, Cloud!"

Cloud nodded, almost as if he understood it to be his solemn duty. With a wave, Rinoa hooked her arm through Squall's and together they vanished into the meandering crowds.

Zack noticed then Cloud's expectant eyes upon him, wanting to know—or more importantly, understand—what they were to do next. Time to turn those the expectations back on him.

"So what're our options, Cloud?" he asked.

Cloud, quite accustomed to Zack's educational intention, responded succinctly, "One, speak with Master Eraqus. Two, make contact with Shinra."

Zack nodded, marveling. How had he found himself in any kind of teaching role? He never would've imagined it. "And how would we do that?"

"Like you say," Cloud responded, following after Zack as he began to walk, "It's not what you know, but who."

"Yup! And who do we know?"

"Vincent works at Shinra. And—" Cloud paused, thinking, "Ventus is one of Eraqus' apprentices."

"Exactly!" Zack nodded, as they moved together into the lower levels of the Garden. "And who should we go see first?"

Examining the surroundings, Cloud responded, "You think Shinra."

"Why not just go to the source, y'know?" Zack confirmed, "As a Turk, Vincent's pretty high up—he'll definitely know if something's going on."

"You believe Shinra's behind it?" Cloud asked.

Zack nodded, "Yeah, I do. If you had just...heard him, Cloud. I don't know how to describe it. He—I mean, Banon-was certifiable—but there was just something about him. Something happened to him, and Shinra knows about it."

Cloud nodded, understanding.

"Besides, we'll get more out of Ven's old man if we have done some work ourselves." Zack smiled wryly, "I know I wouldn't want to suddenly give up all my work to some guy who showed up on my door with nothing."

Cloud nodded again, not responding. Zack knew that others might take offense at this, as if Cloud was zoning out of the conversation, but he knew him better. He could see through the kid's stoic exterior—this was just Cloud's way of talking. As few words as possible—and if he had nothing to say, he certainly didn't grope to find something to fill the void.

Luckily, he had him, Aerith and Tifa to fill it for him!

"Y'know, I was actually thinking I might go talk to Ven alone." He offered, watching his steps as they descended a long set of stairs.

"W-what?" Cloud asked, clearly surprised and little concerned about being left out.

"Yeah. He knows me best and, well, I think you have other things to take care of, frankly." Zack replied with a wink.

Cloud stared at him in confusion, although with a slight worry in his eyes that told Zack he had an idea where this was going.

"Things got a little testy with Tifa last night, don't you think?" Zack said pointedly.

"I guess."

"I think you should go surprise her at work and patch things up." Zack jerked a thumb toward his chest, "It works great when I do it!"

"Well, I-" Cloud paused, sentence fragmentary.

"You were already thinking about it?" Zack finished for him.

Cloud didn't respond, but the slight blush to his face confirmed it.

"And you didn't see her this morning at the bar when you came to get me?" Zack pushed further.

"No, I…" he was mumbling now, "I hid."

"Then it's settled!" Zack clapped him on the back, "Besides, you can also deliver a message to Aerith for me while you're getting cleaned up!"

"What's the message?" Cloud asked, but Zack was already looking up at the glistening exterior of the Shinra building.

"I'll tell you later. We're here!"

The Shinra Corporation was rich—and Zack meant _really_ rich. He didn't know whether they rivaled the monarchy, but if they didn't, they had to have come close. The wealth the Shinra family had accumulated manufacturing weapons, using their signature mingling of magic and technology during the prolonged years of the Cauldron War, was prolific—and it showed.

The Shinra building's multiple floors, excepting the foundational ground level, were made almost entirely of glass, hardened by Fira magic—a rare enough substance in a town made mostly of marble and clay. This caused the whole building to nearly glow in the sun without allowing anyone from outside to see in; a beacon erupting from south center of the Garden.

Long and wide, its six floors towered above everything else in this district—in fact, most of this district thrived by serving Shinra and its employees in one way or another. Only the city walls and Hollow Bastion rose higher than Shinra—it even rose almost as tall as the highest districts of the Garden, which circled around Hollow Bastion in ever-ascending plateaus.

Zack raised his hand to knock on the ornately carved mahogany main entrance, emblazoned with the diamond Shinra emblem, before remembering that he was now an investigator—and he thought it time to act like it.

Dropping his hand to the door, Zack simply pushed his way through and into the vestibule of the building, with Cloud following confidently behind him.

Inside, the wealth only became more obvious—plush curtains and rich maroon carpets over perfectly carpentered hickory floors and walls, all lit by the rich light that poured through the glass that rimmed the top of the high entry, above the marbled foundation.

Doing his best to ignore all this, Zack marched promptly to the wide, wooden desk that separated him from numerous doors, stairs and gravira elevators that lined the wall behind it—and to the smiling blonde secretary sitting behind it, manning a board of buttons and screens powered, no doubt, by magic. This technology certainly rivaled that of the PKF high command, which struck Zack with a vague sense of insecurity.

"Can I help you, sirs?" the secretary asked, unperturbed by their surprise entry.

"I'm Investigator Fair," Zack flashed his new badge, perhaps a little too ostentatiously, "And this is my apprentice, Cloud Strife. We're here to talk to Vincent Valentine?"

"Do you have an appointment?" The secretary asked, looking over the colorful board.

"No, but we're friends," Zack swaggered, leaning forward, "He won't mind our surprise."

The secretary, still unimpressed, pressed a half-dozen buttons in order and smiled back at Zack, unimpressed. "I would be more worried about the President's opinion, rather that his. Regardless, he will be down to meet you soon."

Zack, with a shrug and a nod, stepped back to admire again the artistry of the foyer as they waited. Being here was starting to make him uncomfortable—he didn't like all the ritz and finery. It all seemed so fake; pointless and manipulative. Thankfully, the whirring sound of one of the gravira elevators descending started up and, within seconds, Vincent Valentine strode out.

A tall man, Vincent's slim form was accentuated by the sharply tailored black suit that he wore—the uniform of the Turks. Jet-black hair fell short around his face, at times almost obscuring his nearly blood-red eyes. His face itself was a stoic puzzle; beyond any that Zack had ever been able to decipher.

While still in training, Vincent had been a Senior, years ahead of Zack both in age and ability. Because of this, Zack had chosen him to pursue as a partner, despite the fact that most of his peers were intimidated both by Vincent's significant talent and his standoffish isolation.

Vincent had been unresponsive, literally, for months, while Zack had tried every antic imaginable to get his attention and/or interest…and while never knew why-perhaps he was just too amusing-Vincent finally refrained from kicking him out from a training session Zack had forced his way into.

From there, some kind of bizarre friendship had developed and, even while Zack had gone into the PKF and Vincent's talent had rocketed him through the ranks of Shinra's Special Ops division, the two still occasionally sparred together and, on the even more rare occasion, joined Aerith for dinner.

Although, Zack had to admit—though Vincent was painfully polite-those dinners were awkwardly quietly. Why was he surrounded by so many quiet people?!

"Zack, what are you doing here?" Vincent asked, voice monotone-no threat or annoyance to it, just unemotional inquiry.

Zack grinned and put out a hand for Vincent to shake, knowing better than to go for anything closer, "Well, I just got a promotion to Investigator. I'm here for work."

"I see." Vincent's almost-glowing eyes looked over Cloud, who stared back at him, both alike-some kind of mute, bizzaro twins.

"So I'm here to ask you a few questions—I'm looking into the incident in the Third District yesterday, I'm sure you heard about it?" Zack asked, speaking as quietly as possible. It had become obvious no one would be inviting them elsewhere in the building and the Secretary was still eying him with some kind of _look_.

"Indeed, we all have." Vincent replied, "Banon Amano used to be employed here."

"What?!" Zack exclaimed, surprised at the ease of his first investigative inquiry.

"A bookkeeper." Vincent answered, "He was dismissed two weeks ago. Violent paroxysm."

"That fits with what I saw…:" Zack said to himself, imaging he understood well-enough what Vincent had said, "Before he was assassinated, Banon was rambling about…" looking about the atrium suspiciously, Zack leaned in closer, "crazy experiments here, like, with people."

"Do you believe a madman, Zack?" Vincent asked pointedly, as Zack realized absent-mindedly that Vincent hadn't moved an inch their entire conversation.

Zack shook his head, "I tend to give them some credit when they die for what they're saying."

"Experiments and assassinations—is Shinra your suspect then?" Vincent continued, face stoic.

Zack paused, "I hope not. Do you think it could be?"

"No. Would I be here if that was the case?"

"Well…" Zack mumbled, his voice dropping even quieter, nearly a mumbled whisper, "There's, I mean…Lucretia is here, so…"

Vincent's eyes narrowed, his first movement, along with a twitch in one finger. "Certainly not."

"Right…" Zack trailed off, "Well, Vincent, I trust you, but—"

Suddenly, a second gravira elevator whirred and descended and out from its carven innards emerged a group of three. One was tall and broad-shouldered, dressed as sharply as Vincent, with dark-skin and bald head, sporting only a close-cut goatee, with eyes completely covered by dark glasses.

Opposite him strode, almost stumbling, a shorter man in an equally and utterly unkept suit-unbuttoned to his mid-chest, untucked, with no tie to speak of. His flaming red hair was messily pulled back into a single twisted ponytail and for every inch his fellow stood straight, this one slouched.

But between them was the man most easily recognized: a stunning white suit nearly blinded the eyes, creating almost a glow about him. A black vest was the only contrast on his figure, for his skin was almost as pale as his suit, with striking blonde hair swept up and over his sharp and angled face. His piercing blue eyes turned to examine the small gathering in his atrium, for this all was his: President Rufus Shinra.

But while Vincent turned and saluted, Zack could not care less for people like Shinra. They hadn't earned anything; they weren't heroes. He noticed Cloud didn't react either, although the kid seemed to be watching Rufus rather intently—even concernedly.

"Vincent, we're leaving." Shinra informed, his voice clear and precise. Nodding only the briefest of acknowledgements to Zack, Vincent strode across the atrium to join his two fellow Turks-who Zack could now identify as Reno and Rude, from the few times Vincent had mentioned them—and together they exited.

"What'd you think?" Zack stretched his arms behind his head, as the doors swung closed behind the foursome. "Seems a little too coincidental that Banon worked here-but maybe he was just an angry ex-employee…it just seemed like more, y'know?"

Zack wasn't sure whether he was actually believing his suppositions or not—was he just hoping his investigation was more than it was to justify his new role? Why would Shinra be so obvious as to kill him, if it was them? Was there actually the earnesty in Banon's voice that he recalled?

Cloud spoke quietly, a strain evident in his voice, "I don't like it here."

"What?" Zack asked, "Are you alright?"

"I don't trust it." Cloud said, bright eyes flittering across the room, as if looking for something. Zack noticed with confusion that Cloud's knuckles were white as snow, clenched in tight fists as his eyes roved the lobby.

"Yeah…" Zack said, attention shifting from the investigation to Cloud—the kid needed to do something else for a little while, "I think you've got a good instinct there. But whatever it is, Vincent doesn't seem to know it."

Cloud didn't respond, so Zack continued, "I guess I'll see if Ven's old man has any information that might connect some of these dots…"

Just then, the secretary spoke up, "Excuse me, gentlemen, if that is all, Shinra does not to encourage loitering."

* * *

"Last one, I promise!" Rinoa announced from behind the dressing room door. For his part, Squall only sighed and leaned more heavily against the wall. That meant another three, at least. After dropping off the bullet for analysis, Rinoa had dragged him to this store so that they could "get equipped" for the ball.

Now, here he was, just watching while she tried on dress after dress. What a way to spend a break.

"I only noticed-Dilan gave you a look." Squall said, continuing an earlier conversation. "What if he knows? Dilan especially—that would be very bad."

A small sigh interrupted the constant humming that came from within the dressing room, "He doesn't."

"Right," Squall replied, "But what if he does?"

"You said you handled the reports, right?" Rinoa's voice emanated.

"Yes, but I'm smart enough to know I'm not perfect," Squall replied. "What if someone else saw you?"

"You know what I think?" Rinoa asked, popping her head through the door, "I think you're just mad at me because I did it."

"It was reckless. You didn't need to do it." Squall retorted as she disappeared back inside.

"That family would have died otherwise, and you know it." came her contention. "How could I let that happen?"

"You could have been subtler, at least." He answered.

"You wouldn't know, but it's very hard to hide those things." Rinoa responded, as the door opened, "I think you're just getting worrisome in your old age."

"You're older than me," The twenty-two year-old Squall responded.

"Hey! Don't insult me!" Rinoa smirked back, "What do you think?"

Squall tried to hide his smile and raised eyebrows-he refused to give away too much to her. But he had to admit, he had fallen in love with a gorgeous girl. She had chosen a slightly off-white dress that left her shoulders bare, as the straps wrapped her neck to meet in the center of her chest. Her strong but delicate arms were hooked behind her back as she leaned forward to get his attention, sending the skirt of the dress swirling about her mid-thigh.

The dress was so simple, but when combined with the deep brown of her eyes, the way her hair fell across those shoulders, the knowing smile on her lips-

Obviously he didn't do a sufficient enough job obscuring his reaction, because Rinoa winked, "That's all I need to know."

"G-good." Squall intoned, recovering as best he could manage.

"Look, I appreciate you having somehow become more worried about this than me, Squall," Rinoa strutted to him and placed a finger on his nose, "But if even Aerith and Zack don't know, I'm sure no one else does."

"You have to be more careful." He stoically responded, proud of maintaining his composure in the face of her untroubled spirit. Someone had to be the serious one here—and he had good reason to be.

"Dilly-dally, shilly-shally." She flashed a smile as she flicked his nose and turned away, "Now let's get you something, huh?"

* * *

Aerith drew up the woolen blanket around Merlin's bony shoulders. This beloved old man dozed off for an afternoon nap quite regularly now and Aerith had taken it upon herself, whenever she was home early enough, to ensure that he stayed warm in these opening autumnal chills and that whatever book he had been reading was put safely back in some home.

She touched a hand to his wrinkled cheek—this old wizard, who had given so many of his years to raising her, a child not even his own. He had done so well, done so much-she couldn't have asked for anything better. Of course, she had often wondered about her parents, but poor Merlin only knew so much about this poor orphan he had adopted and, in the face of a good life, Aerith had found most of her questions to feel as ephemeral as a distant voice on the wind.

Near the front of the house, Aerith only just heard the door creak open and be gently closed. They had plenty of people coming in and out of the house, but Aerith could tell by the sensitive way the door moved that it was Cloud—Cid kicked the door open more often than not, Zack perpetually forgot to not let it slam shut behind him, Squall and Rinoa were almost always together and opened longer, and Tifa wouldn't have made a sound. No, this was Cloud.

She lifted the book from Merlin's lap and placed it on a nearby pile, careful to mark the page, as she moved to meet the young man. It had taken awhile for her to convince Merlin to take in another "stray", but she had eventually won the day when she told him it was what he had taught her to do; that taking in someone like this was something she needed to do; to share in the fullness and grace that Merlin had given her.

She had learned of Cloud and Tifa, essentially drifters from the outer territories, when she had recognized the signs of homelessness on their recurrent visits to the clinic she, at the time, had been training in.

After getting to know them, Aerith had insisted on finding them a place to live—she would've taken them both in, but Merlin didn't have the space. It had been Tifa who approached her privately, quietly insisting that they take in Cloud, if either of them. She had said that he needed them more.

Such sacrifice had broken Aerith's heart and, through her new boyfriend Zack, she had also found Tifa an apartment and job at the 7th Heaven, where he himself was living. Cloud and Tifa were only a bit younger than they, and the four had become fast friends once settled. Aerith was delighted to help them, just like Merlin had helped her.

Rounding the artificial corner made by stacks of dusty books, Aerith came to face said young man and his spiky hair, who spoke first.

"Zack gave me a message for you."

"Oh?" Aerith raised an eyebrow, hands on her hips, "And what's that?"

"'I'm pretty sure I still love you more than my new promotion'"

"Oh?" Aerith, to her shame, couldn't help but let out a short, stifled laugh. Typical Zack. Even stranger coming from Cloud's mouth. "Wait, what promotion?"

"Investigator. This morning."

A thrill of happiness filled Aerith on Zack's behalf—he must be so pleased; and she was certainly so proud! She'd have to make some cake or something! But then, she had to wonder- "Is it for what happened yesterday?"

Cloud only nodded.

That concerned her—Zack so close still to that tragedy. She knew it still deeply troubled him, "Will you be going back to him?"

Cloud shook his head, "No."

"Where are you off to, then? Aerith asked, curious as she stepped out of his way—he didn't often leave Zack's side.

His mumbled response came as he rounded the corner and disappeared, "To see Tifa."

Aerith sighed hopefully. That was good. She was worried about how…disagreeable they had been as of late. She had met them together, after all-friends since childhood, she was sure. They had seemed to know each other with a familiarity bred only by years of friendship. But ever since Cloud joined the PKF, things seemed to have gotten worse and worse between them, with the night before only another in a long string of tussles-continually dashing Aerith's hopes of being their official matchmaker.

She hated to admit it, but Aerith knew that if she was to assign responsibility, much of it lay with Cloud. It had seemed impossible, but he had only gotten quieter and more remote since they met and Tifa, dear Tifa, always eager to pursue him, had only pushed Cloud further away. His only outlet seemed to be his work with Zack, but no one seemed to quite understand why.

"What're you going to say?" Aerith asked as Cloud returned, clearly having only washed his face and brushed briefly at his wild spikes of blonde hair.

"I'm sorry." He said matter-of-factly, as he moved gently past Aerith, "Because she was right."

"About?" Aerith questioned the back of his head.

"The PKF." He paused, head tilted slightly toward the window, "There's a reason why Zack first assumed it was the PKF who killed that man."

Aerith, somewhat stunned by Cloud's voluntary conversation, responded simply, "He—he's told me."

The PKF got away with a lot when they were far from the Garden.

"We try to do the right thing," Cloud continued, now clearly staring out the window. Aerith couldn't tell at what—only her rhododendrons and marigolds, in their final bloom, could be seen through it. "But maybe it's not enough."

"What do you mean, Cloud?" Aerith responded.

"I thought…" his voice became quiet, "I thought they would make me strong. Help me fight. But—"

"Zack would understand if you, well, left—" Aerith began hesitantly.

"No." Cloud interrupted, eyes glued now to her flowers, "He's the only one there that helps. Him, Squall, Rinoa…"

"Cloud," Aerith took a step forward, pulling his eyes to her, "We're all here for you—you're stronger with us, with Tifa, not by yourself; even without the PKF."

It took a moment for his eyes to refocus on hers. "Whatever you need, you can talk to us about it."

His eyes flickered again to the window before meeting hers again with a renewed clarity, yet also somehow walled off again. "Thank you, Aerith."

Aerith gestured to the window as she lowered her hand, "Something out there seems to have your attention, huh?"

"It's nothing." Cloud responded, straightening his PKF jacket. With a nodded goodbye, he left, closing the door as gently as he had upon entering.

As Aerith turned to gather the few remaining supplies from about the house that she needed to complete the work on her dress for the Princess' birthday ball, her thoughts were no longer set upon excitement, but worry; a humming song of anticipation was replaced by the anxious sighs of trepidation.

Something had hurt Cloud so deeply, even before he came to the Garden—something that closed him right up. And that something had only gotten worse, it seemed. Somehow, they were failing to get to him. What did he need? How could they reach him? Was the PKF more harm than help? She needed to talk to Zack.

As she returned to the hallway, Aerith glanced between the window and the door, watching the top of Cloud's spiky head finally pass out beyond her gardens and into the streets. There she stood, and did not move for a time.


	6. And Answers

_**.**_

 _ **Chapter VI: And Answers**_ _  
Take no pride,  
for at the end of the game,  
both the King and Pawn  
return to the same box.  
~Italian Proverb_

With experienced grace, Aqua Fidelium spun from underneath the hammered blows of her brother's unrelenting attacks. As Terra's great form lurched forward, filling the gap, Aqua summoned a weak fire spell mid-twist, sending out two wheels of flickering flames.

"And to what purpose were the Keblade fashioned?" Father Eraqus asked calmly from the stone seat where he sat cross-legged at the edge of their oval training garden. Though he appeared disinterested, Aqua knew his sharp eyes were seeing more in their movements than either of them was even aware of.

"To defend, nurture and extend the reach of light." Terra grunted the practiced mantra as he swept his enormous Keyblade in a figure-eight pattern, cutting down Aqua's spells as they flew.

Father continued, as he always did, "And where does light reach?"

As Terra was fully dedicated to his swing, Aqua's immediately drew her spin to a sharp stop and darted forward, banishing the Keyblade from her grasp—she liked to dismiss it when moving, to gain full use of her hands. With ease, she took her turn in responding to their Father.

"Into our very bodies, illuminating the path we must walk."

Terra's blue eyes narrowed at her—perhaps he had an inkling of what she was up to, though she knew she had never tested this particular move on him before. Perhaps he might guess it—no matter, she'd still make it work. Meanwhile, his deep voice continued their mantra, "Into our very minds, guiding our soul in the way of virtue."

Aqua watched Terra's Keyblade, long and jutting wide, rise at just the speed she had hoped—predicted, really. He had always moved with the firm and slow ferocity of a lumberjack. As it became level with her knees, she knew already that he was moving for a block—meaning he hadn't yet determined what was coming.

"And into our very hearts, uniting us with the Great Heart!" Aqua finished, leaping just in time to land lightly on the tip of Terra's blade, graceful and balanced; a moment of precision frozen in time.

Terra's eyes widened and a smirk of impressed amusement broke through his tight lips—but it was too late for Terra to stop his own great momentum. Returning to him her own brief smile, proud of accomplishing what they had hitherto only imagined, Aqua allowed herself to be launched into the air by his own swing.

Eraqus continued, his voice utterly impassable to their duel, "And of that which the Great Heart, Kingdom Hearts, consists?"

Aqua's drew in a measured breath as she hung in the air for what was only a brief moment. Recalling the Keyblade to her hand, she pirouetted and fell back toward Terra, who swung his blade horizontally, as best he could to to block as he responded to their Father, "Pure light, polluted by no shadow of darkness, to which we are all called."

A moment of symphonic silence passed by, punctuated by the heavy clang of her Keyblade meeting Terra's. His awkward block against her descending power wasn't sufficient, and his ankle twisted beneath him, forcing him to stumble back with a grunt, almost collapsing onto one leg. As she flipped forward from the strike to land on her feet and twist immediately into another strike, pressing her advantage, Aqua permitted herself a brief smile; proud at how perfectly executed the entire dance was from start to finish.

"And darkness is as what?"

As Terra jumped back again from her swipe, stumbling again on his offset leg, Aqua responded, "A parasite and abominable corruption of light, bound only for destruction."

In one last attempt, Terra placed more weight on his twisted ankle than Aqua had expected him to be able to—typical Terra, pressing through the pain no matter the cost—and launch a counterattack with his massive blade. Caught slightly off guard, Aqua had time only to deflect his strike enough to duck under him—only narrowly missing the last eruption of Terra'a deep and fortitudinous wellspring of will.

Springing up past his swing, Aqua angled her Keyblade to his chin, pausing as it nearly cut his cheek. There they stood, panting, as their individual exertion caught up to them in the moment of rest.

"Well enough, well enough," Eraqus clapped, indicating his satisfaction.

Immediately, both their Keyblade vanished and Aqua dropped to a knee to examine Terra's ankle, already showing slight signs of swelling.

"Aqua, you don't have to—" Terra began, as he pulled his foot away, "As the Master says," he glanced briefly at their Father, who he—unlike Aqua—insisted on addressing formally, "Pain is the wisest teacher."

"Yet, Father also says it is in the light that we are healed." Aqua smiled, as she weaved the green glow of Cura magic against Terra's skin. Satisfied, she returned to standing beside him. "You put up a good fight."

"Hm." Terra snorted, "As did you- always inventing some new challenge."

"Yes, indeed." Father Eraqus finally spoke, "That grace that Aqua moves in—that is Kingdom Hearts. You would do well to notice, Terra, that even in training, the light manifests," Aqua tried not to appear too proud and hide her embarrassment, as he continued—she didn't like how often their Father compared the two of them. "In every moment, Kingdom Hearts is _being_ and each of us, feeling the urge in our own hearts, brings our very lives into its flow."

"But Master," Terra inquired, standing stiff and stocky, "Would that not mean—"

"Terra! Aqua! Dad!"

"Ventus!" Father exclaimed, a smile spreading across his face as the youngest of their small family, short, spiky-haired blonde Ven, traipsed out into the field—back from his daily lunch at the Seventh Heaven, "Where have you been, my boy?"

Aqua was glad as always to see him, but she couldn't help but wince as she saw the disappointment in Terra's face as their Father's attention was immediately distracted. Ven had long been the favorite of their Father—there was so much light to see in him, pure and unbridled, overcoming—it was little wonder to Aqua why their Father favored him so.

Aqua only wished Father might see more clearly how Terra, turning to greet Ven with a flashing smile that covered his shame and hurt, might be wounded, too, by his love.

For her part, Aqua had learned to live with reality. The opinion of Father Eraqus, though valuable beyond words to her, was not all she had. She was more than that. If only Terra were to learn that, too…

"—I brought a friend along, too!" Ven was saying, gesturing back toward the house, "He really wanted to you, dad."

"Oh?" Father stiffened, suspicious as he was of outsiders. His intense stare across the few yards to the backdoor of their stone home seemed almost to force out their visitor, who walked awkwardly out with a slight wave into the sunlight and brisk autumnal air.

The man looked slightly older than Ven, with long black hair pushed back messily from his head, creating the impression that he had just taken a blast of wind head-on.

"Zack, meet my brother Terra, my sister Aqua, and my father: Eraqus!" Ven introduced, his voice bubbling.

Aqua, along with Terra, both inclined slightly, while their Father remained unreadable. This Zack fellow immediately seemed to take such silence as an invitation to speak and rushed forward to awkwardly shake his hand.

"Master Eraqus, it is truly an honor to finally meet you. You—" Aqua observed stoically as his gaze fell on her and Terra again, his eyes—to her surprise—filled with earnest admiration, "You all are kind of legends among the rest of us, I mean, your heroics are, well, sir, they are—"

"Many, many years ago." Father responded, pulling his hand back. Such things Father rarely spoke of it. "What can we do for you?"

"Well, Ven's probably mentioned me—no? Well, you see—" Zack stuttered, as Ven shrugged, "I'm an Investigator for the PKF and I just had a few questions for you about the Shinra Company—" Aqua's thoughts began to race—what did this man know? "But it seems I interrupted some training up here, amiright?"

"True enough, but what has that to do with—" Eraqus began to respond but was shortly interrupted.

"So I was thinking, then, maybe I could take one of you on? Y'know, in a friendly duel?" Zack began to perform some sort of funny squatting exercise, crouching and standing in rapid succession. "I'd love to see those crazy swords of yours—Keyblades, right?—in action."

It was then that Aqua decided this fellow was just a bizarre buffoon and not some sort of trouble—and if only for Ven's sake, she would indulge him.

But Terra eagerly spoke up; before even their Father, "Certainly. I accept."

"Awesome!" Zack responded, and immediately reached for the long, wide sword that was strapped to his back. "But just none of your fancy-pants magic, alright? That's not my style."

"Fine." Terra smirked slightly. "Actually, I prefer it that way."

As the two moved into readying position, Aqua walked to her Father, who wore a face of impatient resignation, as Ven regaled his friend of Terra's strengths. This only seemed to brighten the excitement of Zack all the more. Aqua smiled with amusement—he had no idea what he was in for.

"Ven's young friend seems to have something to prove." Father murmured.

Aqua's smile continued unabated, "If only he knew—Terra does too, even more than he."

At that moment, Ven stepped back from between the two, grinning widely, as if to referee the match. With a slice of his hand, the round was begun, and Zack sprang into action, charging across their separation with his large sword swung high. Terra, for his part, remained rooted—his Keyblade, the Way to Dawn, held loosely and pointed to the ground.

With a leap, Zack came flying down upon Terra who, lifting his heavy blade, twisted around with a great spin and—like a baseball bat against the ball—swung from the spin with enough force to send Zack flying back through the air and kicking up a cloud of dust as he fell. Ven burst out laughing as Aqua could tell their Father balanced a frown and his own amusement.

"Please, do not kill our guest, my son." He interjected.

"Of course, Master." Terra nodded in reply, returning to his immovably mountainous stance.

"Eheheh…" Zack stumbled to his feet, brushing some dirt from chin, "So that's the power of your Keyblades, huh? I haven't actually ever seen them in action. Pretty cool!"

Aqua raised an eyebrow—this fellow had taken a fair pummeling in his right, and now he was smiling about it? In fact, he looked…even more excited?

Wrapping his fingers tightly around the hilt of his weapon, Zack now approached more cautiously, blade held out before him. Terra, for his part, remained stoically still.

Aqua had to smile. Terra was really enjoying himself here—like the old days, when he had first been found, and saw the magic in every new thing.

It had been nice to finally have someone her own age to talk to.

Meanwhile, in the present, Zack had slipped closer and closer—testing Terra's deflections with brief, restrained strikes which Terra had batted away effortlessly. Suddenly, as Zack raised his sword for another strike, Terra moved like lightning—darting forward with enough surprise that Aqua almost jumped.

Zack, though, actually jumped—and that's what saved him, for as he stumbled to the side, he was able to just barely deflect Terra's powerful blow. Aqua expected the young man to still be a shock and just try to steady his feet, but instead, he seemed to think quickly and take advantage of the moment of surprise.

Reaching up to his blade, Zack made a few motions Aqua couldn't make out and, before she fully realized it, a much smaller blade—almost a dagger really—had been detached from the sword's complex blade (which she now realized to be a composite of, at least, six other blades), which Zack struck with rogue-like precision at Terra's arm.

Grunting, her brother smoothly finished his swing and returned to his stance, before glancing at his upper arm. There, a small slice of red had appeared and begun to drip down his arm.

Immediately, Aqua was ready to move for a healing spell—she was impressed, but there was no point in any more serious injury. But Terra, instead, narrowed his eyes and swung again at Zack—who appeared to be a little distracted with smug self-congratulation. Caught off-guard, Zack was forced back by the first of Terra's blows, which began to come in a flurry.

"You've asked for it now, Zack!" Ven teased from the side.

In precisely three strikes, Terra twisted his Keyblade behind Zack's own sword and, with a snap, flung it from his hand. With one final movement, Terra leveled his Keyblade directly between Zack's eyes. A moment of tense silence followed before Zack chuckled, "Alright, alright—impressive! You win, you win. I'm sorry about your arm."

Terra paused for only the briefest of moments-perhaps Aqua only imagined it—before smirking in return and lowering his Keyblade. "You weren't bad. Just not good enough."

"So I can see!" Zack replied, stooping to pick up his own sword and return it to the holster on his back. "I guess you monks up here do more than just read books and meditate!"

"Well, Ven, you have brought us a strange and interesting friend." Father finally spoke up, "But I cannot imagine you have come here only to train against one of my own, hm?"

"Well, ah, sir—you are right about that." Zack responded, pushing his jet-black hair back and away from his face. "Commander Aeleus said that I should speak with you about a case I'm working."

"Oh?" Father responded, as she and Terra shared covert glances. Had Ven known this was what he was going to ask about, Aqua wondered?

"Yeah, see, there was this…" Zack paused, his eyes seeming to drift slightly, "There was a man who was killed in the Third District yesterday. He was saying a lot of stuff, accusing the Shinra Company of terrible things."

"Many do. Weapons manufacturers are hardly well-loved by the common man." Father replied.

"But they don't all die under mysterious circumstances." Zack finished, meeting Father's eyes with a level of confidence that Aqua was impressed by.

"I see. And what have we to do with your questions, then?" Father asked.

"Commander Aeleus said that you were already investigating Shinra for something. I was hoping we might share some notes." Zack responded, same level of cheer in his voice—either he couldn't sense the growing tension as Aqua could, or he was trying to keep things level. Either way, she didn't like it—or her father's reaction.

"I'm afraid that the good Commander might have overestimated how much I know," Father replied, tucking his hands inside the sleeves of his simple, brown cloak, "All that I can tell you is that weapons manufactured by Shinra have ended up in places where they should not be."

"What kind of places?"

Father paused, "Outside of the Garden; in the hands of all manner of agitators and malcontents."

"And you think Shinra had been selling those weapons?"

"What else does a Company do?"

It was not Zack's turn to pause. "And you haven't heard anything about…experiments?"

"I cannot say—" Father responded, a certain finality in his voice. Aqua could see that Ven recognized it, too, for his face fell, "—all I know is that a company will do what it must for profit. They have no conception of the good; of the light. They do not understand Kingdom Hearts."

Zack snorted, letting his impatience show, "How should we understand legends?" without waiting for an answer, he inclined himself slightly at the waist, "Thank you for your time."

Father returned the gesture, "Terra, will show our guest out?"

"Indeed." Terra responded, turning to walk back toward the stone walls of their simple, monasterial home.

"Don't worry, Master, I will—" Ven turned after to replace Terra, but Father called him back.

"No, Ven. I wish to speak with you."

Aqua sighed. This had been a lovely afternoon before the work had become involved again.

"I'll, uh, catch up with you later then, Zack!" Ven waved after his friend, as they vanished back inside the house. Immediately, Ven turned back to their Father. "Master, why did you tell him nothing at all! He could help!"

Eraqus sighed, his disappointment evident. "You must be more cautious, my son."

"But nothing? Less than nothing? You didn't tell him about the meetings between the Castle and Shinra? About Wutai? Not even a hint about what we've found underground? Don't you trust me?"

"Of course he does!" Aqua interjected, trying to calm the situation, "But it's not about trust, Ven."

"Aqua is right. We are dealing with very powerful and dangerous people." Eraqus said, turning away from Ven, "We cannot take even the slightest of chances."

"I would've trusted him." Terra interrupted, returning from the house to stand behind Ven, "He seemed like a decent person."

"Then you are less prudent than I thought, Terra." Eraqus replied. "We still have more work to do."

"But, Master, every moment we keep quiet, the more damage is done!" Terra replied, dredging up their age-old, bi-weekly argument—now re-energized by Ven's frustration and Terra's own disappointment with their Father. Aqua looked between them worriedly—she loved them both so much and understood so well where there were coming from that she had no ideas on how to help them.

"You know I know that." Father replied firmly. "But I did not ask you to face monsters when you were but children. We do not have the strength yet, nor the evidence, to prove our case. We are still building our power, Terra—information, knowledge, strength. And when we are done, there shall be no mercy for those who shrink from the light and hide in the darkness."

"It seems that we are the ones hiding!" Terra retorted, his voice rising to match.

"I shall hear no more of this!" Father grunted, passing Terra and moving toward the house, "You three are free to go about your day. I shall be meditating."

As Father passed out of earshot, Terra growled as he sat back on the grass. "There are people suffering because of them, and yet we sit here and do nothing! Of course all the Master will do is meditate!"

"Terra…" Aqua murmured, "I know it's frustrating, and Father is strict enough, but you know we're getting closer and closer! The Star Charts he drew up for the Lord Protector-they will lead us to whoever is working with Shinra!"

"Perhaps. Perhaps not." Terra sullenly responded, "What is for certain is the evil we know."

"Zack really could have helped, too…" Ven sighed, plopping down beside Terra, "He really is a good one, you guys…"

"We believe you, Ven," Aqua replied comfortingly, as she seemed to do more and more often nowadays. She often felt like she was trying desperately, vainly, to pull the retreating tide back onto the shore.

"The Master's just being paranoid about it." Terra shrugged.

"Just wait until the Princess' birthday." Aqua said, as she joined her brothers on the ground to watch the great clouds pass slowly overhead, "once we're in the Bastion, we'll get a closer look at who the Turks have been meeting."

* * *

Every three seconds, Vincent's right index finger tapped against the desk beside him. Not that he intended it to, or that he was counting it off—it just happened that way; the one uncontrollable expression of his inner tension—otherwise he was as unresponsive as ever. Temperature, posture, breathing, heartrate, nerves—all normal and well-regulated. But that finger did not stop its tapping.

Zack. Damn Zack; him and his stupid antics. Basically kicking down the door and ranting about whether Shinra was killing innocent people—what did he expect him to say? Did he think he could waltz right into the lobby and expect Vincent to shout out "Yes, indeed, we are murderers!"?

Even if that were true—which it wasn't-why would Zack think that would be the way to go? What fool promoted him and why?

But still, Vincent sighed internally, he couldn't get Zack's words out of his head. That earnesty; that overflowing cup of overconfident bluster—he never could be ignored; and especially not by Vincent—not since their days at the Academy when Zack had announced to the whole class that Vincent was "not some albino vampire" and demanded all taunting and aggression cease. Somehow, even though Zack was naught but a child then, it had worked.

And Vincent, sighing, had been forced to listen to him ever since—led, unwillingly, by his own undernourished heart.

With sharp tones, the clock in the President's office chimed out the hour. He was the Turk on guard in the lustrous office atop the Shinra Building. Tseng, Elena, Rude and Reno were elsewhere, with the President, as they all always were.

And with each chime, now matching time with the beat of Vincent's finger, he knew he could not simply dismiss Zack's words. He, and the Turks as a whole, had done…questionable things. But outright assassination? Was that what the President had graduated to?

With trained precision, Zack turned and marched into the gravira elevator and, punching in a series of numbers, felt it immediately descend beneath him. Floor by floor, window by window, until it passed the ground floor and entered the laboratories beneath the facility. There, weaponry was tested and R&D worked out under the oversight of Professor Hojo.

Vincent hated Professor Hojo. In fact, in his whole muted spectrum of emotion, Vincent was quite certain that his hatred for Hojo was that which he felt most acutely. His only comfort was that he was confident he made Hojo feel the same way. He wouldn't have even bothered coming down here to inquire if Hojo were the only power in the basement laboratories.

The elevator chimed one, two, three times—indicating the below-ground level he had entered.

Fortunately, there was someone else down here he could speak to.

The elevator slowed to a stop, its door pulled open and, much to Vincent's horror, she stood right there.

Her slight face; gentle brown eyes. Her hair was tied up differently today, wrapped up high above her head, only to fall back down behind her like a waterfall. Her white labcoat flourished around her like a ballroom dress as she turned, a slight, surprised, smile overtaking her lips.

"Lucretia."

"Vincent!" Lucretia briefly glanced over her shoulder as he stepped out onto the metal-grated floor, "What brings you down here?"

"Just a few questions." Vincent started, as he did his best to take in the giant machines covered in tubes and blinking lights that filled the hallway, rather than her. "I am investigating rumors in the Garden about…" he paused, "…unethical experiments performed under Shinra's auspices."

Lucretia paused. Vincent noticed her rolling a pen about in her left hand, while her right remained tucked in her coat pocket. "What kind of experiments?"

"Human experiments." Vincent replied, without hesitation.

With a slight laugh, Lucretia turned back to adjust some knobs on a wide computer, "I hope you realize how absurd that sounds, Vincent."

"I do." he lied, concerned that it wasn't so far outside the realm of Shinra's capabilities. The President had built something dangerous.

"And you think, what, that I'm hurting people down here?" Lucretia chided.

"No." Vincent responded, "That is why I am asking you."

"And not Hojo?"

Vincent nodded.

Lucretia sighed, "Well, if you can trust me, those rumors are unfounded. There is nothing going on down here other than boring computer simulations and never-ending gun testing." With a challenge to her voice, she continued, "If you are interested, we are in fact studying now the sub-atomic variations when combining orichalcum with differing levels of Fira mag—"

A metallic creak from down the hall caught the attention of Vincent's automatic responses and, in the blink of an eye, he had protectively pushed Lucretia back against the nearest wall and drawn his favored triple-barreled handgun.

"My, my, my, Vincent—awfully trigger-happy, aren't we?" Hojo's nasally, obnoxious voice echoed down the hall as the Professor's stooped form came into view. His small eyes peered with curiosity over his glasses at the two of them. "Normally, such visits from Turks are to be announced, eh?"

Vincent narrowed his eyes and slowly holstered his weapon, back at his side. He was slower to drop his arm from Lucretia, who had to pushed herself forward to get completely back on her feet.

"The President asked him to check on Project Cerberus, Professor." Lucretia replied, straightening her labcoat.

"And have you finished reporting?" Hojo questioned.

Looking back to Vincent, Lucretia nodded. "Yes, I have."

"Then come with me, Doctor. We have more work needed on…another project." Hojo held out a hand, gesturing Lucretia forward, deeper into the twisted metallic tunnels of the laboratory, which Vincent was considering more and more alike to the bowels of some increasingly unfamiliar beast.

Lucretia stooped to pick up the pen she had dropped with Vincent's sudden defense. "Have a good day, Vincent Valentine."

With that, and without a response offered from Vincent—for what reason, he did not know—her dark brown eyes broke from his and she quickly moved down the hallway to take Hojo's hand and vanished into the basement's maze.

Slowly, he turned back and punched the relevant numbers into the gravira elevator to return to the President's Office. As he waited for its descent, Vincent wondered if coming down here had been a mistake. It would be a lie to say that Lucretia had convinced him of all things being well. In fact, he was now less convinced than ever. He could see it in her eyes. He could sense it in the air. He knew it in his heart—what his colleagues were capable of.

The whir of the elevator came into earshot and he stepped inside, breathing still regular, heartbeat paced, but now it was his foot that was tapping.

What had he hoped to find down here? Answers? Hope? What was the point? Even if it were all true, what could he do?

He knew the terrible truth-he was in too deep and Lucretia with him.

* * *

Tifa wiped down another table, clearing all the leftover silverware and plates into a wide tray she carried. At least these ones left a satisfactory tip. She didn't particularly enjoy the work, nor did she particularly dislike it—it was a job, she was good at it, and she got paid enough for it. That was the long and the short of her relationship with the tavern.

Peaking over her shoulder, she caught again the tufts of Cloud's blonde hair peaking over the partition to the other side of the bar. She sighed, wondering when he would work up enough courage to talk with her. He probably didn't even realize that she knew he was there. Like most of the time, it was up to her.

Oh, Cloud…he was so…himself!

She checked the clock and looked over the bar again. The couple at table 2B seemed just about set, the old fogey on the stool had a tub of beer to set him up for another hour, and the group of friends meeting at 4A were, she thought, well-supplied with food and drink. It was the dreary hours of late afternoon, after all, and the perfect time—therefore—for a break.

Dropping her apron behind the bar, Tifa snatched up two bottles of ginger ale and marched around the partition, pausing only to shake her head at the back of Cloud's wild spikes. What a dummy. He wasn't even sitting—just standing there at attention beside a table, like it was his commanding officer.

"Surprise!" she announced, dropping one of the bottles in front of him before sliding into the seat across, "What's up?"

Cloud's frozen shock confirmed all she needed to know—he really thought she hadn't noticed him. His mouth worked up and down for minute before he suddenly blurted out, "I'm sorry about last night. You were right and I don't know why I—I…I…"

Tifa let him dwindle down before she popped the cap off her drink, "A whole ten or twelve words…" she sighed, smiling slightly, "You must really mean it."

Cloud nodded in response, "I…also brought you this."

Reaching beneath the table, Cloud produced a single flower, short and thin in stem, with five delicate petals sprouting from its tip. Their baby-blue shade brought a breath of clean air into Tifa's lungs, blown down from the cool of the autumnal mountains.

"You went back?" she asked, almost breathless, as she took the ever-so-small thing from Cloud's hand, turning it over to examine it in her own.

Cloud immediately shook his head. "A shop. In Kalm."

Tifa's eyes flickered to him and back—just a single flower, but bringing with it all the weight of younger times, of fresh air, of mountains and fields and a life before everything changed. It held in its frail form all of the good and none of the bad.

"Thank you." She said, cradling it in one hand, "and I'm sorry, too. We both got angry." With one hand, she popped the cap of her ale and took a drink, wondering if she should also tell him that her frustration came from his distance—which was almost always the same, whether home or away. Instead, it came out more like, "The drink's on the house, y'know."

After a pause, Cloud's shaking hand reached out to grab the bottle she had placed before him. Tifa's brow furrowed and she leaned forward, "What's wrong, Cloud? It's okay, I'm not upset with you."

He looked up from trying to pop the cap off, but his eyes passed by Tifa and caught something distant, outside, beyond the windows of the Seventh Heaven. His fingers immediately stiffened and the glass slipped straight through them, clattering to the table and spilling its contents.

Tifa's waitressing instincts only vaguely noticed, though, as she half-heartedly tossed a few napkins over the spill. Rather, she had leapt to her feet and dashed to the window—nearly knocking an exiting guest over on her way. Plastered to the glass, she took in the whole view—sunny evening sky, people walking by, normal storefront and stone houses of the Garden.

Turning back, she rushed to him, finding Cloud wiping up the spilt ale, eyes trained on the table. Leaning in close, worry knotting her chest, she cleared her throat until he looked up at her.

"What did you see? Was that it?"

Cloud nodded, his blue eyes wide.

"It was worse at Shinra."

"What?" Tifa replied, now taking his hand. She could feel his pulse racing.

"At the Shinra Building. It was the worst I'd ever felt. It was waiting." He tried to look down again, with some mix of fear and shame, but Tifa kept following him, "Just…hovering there."

Tifa bit her lip, "And you haven't talked to anyone about it? Zack? Aerith? All this time?"

"I don't notice it, most of the time."

"But you told me it follows you." Tifa replied, her eyes turning away briefly to scan the bar, "Where is it now?"

"I don't always. It was just there for a second." His eyes turned back to the windows, briefly, across the street and up to the blue stone roofs off the houses across the way.

Tifa moved to look again, knowing though that she wouldn't see anything, but Cloud's hand snapped out to her, grabbing it almost desperately. "Please don't—it's…better if you stay."

"What?" she asked, sliding in now to sit behind him, "Why?"

"It stays furthest away when you're here." Her cheeks warmed slightly as he spoke, but his eyes had dropped down to his lap. "It's like that with Zack, too. With Aerith. With Squall and Rinoa."

"But why, Cloud? What does it want?" she wrapped an arm around him, trying to bring his eyes up to meet hers—but when she did, they looked so distant. So fearful that she almost wished she hadn't seen them. When he spoke, his voice was a hoarse whisper.

"Everything."


	7. Close to the Ground

_**.**_

 _ **Chapter VII: Close to the Ground  
**_ _The Almighty has brought down kings from their thrones,  
but he has lifted up the humble;  
He has filled well the hungry,  
but he has sent the rich away empty.  
~The Magnificat of the Virgin Mary_

"I know you must feel so lonely here, all by yourself," Aerith spoke softly, "But I promise—one day soon you'll be strong enough for the garden!"

With an encouraging smile, she poured just a trickle of water on the small and unflowered lily. After a brief, reassuring touch, she moved along to the next—a cluster of peonies "And you—don't start thinking that you're more important just because you've bloomed; there's more to all of you than that!"

Giving the rosy cluster its share of water, Aerith turned about twice—counting, then double-counting, the kitchen to ensure she hasn't missed any of her little ones, each one exuding beautiful, vivacious life, each in its own way. Sighing with satisfaction, Aerith took up her little pruners and watering can and moved to the entry way to finish her rounds.

As she surveyed the work to be done, a few raps at the door interrupted her attention. Out of habit, Aerith glided to the window to identify the visitor—a practice Merlin had instilled in her since youth. She wasn't sure why, though—she had never failed to receive whatever guest might be visiting (though she would privately admit some were more easily welcomed than others).

With a delighted smile, Aerith recognized the blown-back dark hair and fidgeting stance-along with those same old wrinkled and worn navy blue top and black pants he always wore—somehow. But this only day two of him being back—she wasn't going to let it bother her. Yet.

The skipped beat of her heart only confirmed the identity of her guest, because of course that still happened.

Ducking below the window, so as not to even be glanced at, she crept over to the big, wooden door and checked her hair briefly in the mirror beside it, straightened the neck of her simple sundress, and brushed her hands on the small towel over her shoulder. Even after all this time, seeing Zack—especially in surprise, like this—still sent her flurrying like a first date.

With a breath, she pulled down the latch and pulled the great door open, revealing his firm yet wiry form, now leaning against the doorframe with an attempted suave confidence markedly at odds with the nervous bobbing she had witnessed through the window. Even this, she loved.

"Hey there,", he greeted with that smile all his own.

"Good morning!" Aerith chimed back, "But aren't you supposed to be working your new, super-important, job?"

"Good to see you, too." Zack chuckled, stepping past her and into the house, glancing at her hands as he passed, "How're are the kids doing?"

Aerith sighed, playing along with him, "The peonies have been showing off and making everyone else jealous, the dahlia is still getting over her little bout of disease, and," she brushed at the long fronds of the plant nearest her, "the fern here just can't seem to grow any bigger."

"Well, have you tried watering it?"

"And this is why you don't take care of them…" Aerith snorted, waving him off with a finger, "that won't win you any promotions in childcare."

"Eh, you're probably right." Zack replied, moving to lean against one of Merlin's bookshelves. "Anyway, what are you doing today?"

"Well, it is my day off, so after I finished this, and read to them a little, there were some things I needed to get at the market and then, well, who knows?" Aerith took back up her watering can and began tending to the poor fern—perhaps she finally needed to get it outside?

"Sounds like a great day for you." Zack smiled. From someone else, like Cid, Aerith might've heard that as sarcasm, but she knew by now that lovely, earnest, Zack meant it. And he was right. Well, almost.

"I was pretty happy about it—but now it's perfect." She answered, betraying to him a little wink, but no more. "What brings you back so early, though, Mister-Sir-Investigator Fair?"

Zack sighed, "There's not much else to do when Ven's stuffy friends refuse to tell you what they know, Shinra won't let me back without a warrant, and Vincent is nowhere to be found," getting a little worked up, Zack began to perform his squats, "All my leads are currently dead, until I get that warrant."

"Sounds more like they were killed." Aerith replied, trimming away a bit on the small sprout before her.

"Yeah, it seems like it. I guess my boyish charm can't work with everyone, eh?" he smirked ruefully.

"Unfortunately for you, I'm pretty sure I'm the only one they work with." Aerith reminded.

"Eh, that's more than enough," Zack responded, walking over to tilt her head up toward him, "Wanna go on a date, then?"

And that was that—within fifteen minutes, the children were fed, the doors locked, and Aerith was beaming, quite content, as she marched down the wide streets of the Garden, right arm hooked in Zack's and carrying a broad basket on her left. He would, of course, believe it totally his charm that she came with him so quickly—but in truth, there was, in fact, many sights to see. The Princess' birthday was tomorrow and all of the preparations were nearly complete.

The streets themselves seemed almost alive—everyone bustling with a purpose; a certain electricity in the air as the shared spirit of the town anticipated the upcoming celebration. Not everyone was invited to the ball (for the first time ever, though, _she was_ , Aerith reminded herself with glee), but every part of the town would celebrate in its own way—people in the squares, people in the bars, house parties, hall parties, every sort of party—the whole town alive as one! Aerith loved that feeling; perhaps more than the celebration itself.

Thus, to her eyes, the explosive purple banners and great white tents were just the icing on the cake; the signs that pointed to something deeper, more important, more beautiful than just a birthday.

Meanwhile, Zack was recounting how he got here to "save" her.

"-and then I remembered you and asked myself, 'Zack, why're you wasting all your time with these bozos when you could be with Aerith right now?' and-" Zack gave a great sweep with his free hand, "-boom, here we are."

"It seems we've both won out, I think," Aerith responded, eyes caught on another colorful booth being erected on the streetcorner," I'm sorry it had to be by so many disappointments to you, though."

Zack shrugged, "I'll survive, I guess. Part of being an Investigator."

"But you don't think you'll impress the Commanders, right? That's what bothering you?" Zack startled, and Aerith smiled contentedly to herself. She still loved how he seemed always so shocked that she could see through him like that. Zack was not a complex man, by any stretch of the imagination—and there was absolutely nothing wrong with that.

"Ah, well, I'll figure out another way, right?" Zack replied, "I just gotta get Ven's dad to talk to me and figure out how to fit in with Vincent's bigwig friends at Shinra."

"Those are some lofty goals," Aerith noted, slowing to examine the blooms of a new forsythia, seeded along the boulevard in the most recent cycle of the Garden's planting season. "Why don't you take more bite-sized steps?"

It took Zack a moment, it seemed, to realize that Aerith had stopped moving, and he nearly tugged her forward and off her feet as he kept striding. As it was, he swung back around to stand beside her—though, she noticed, his eyes continually roving above the crowd with their bright-eyed excitement, "But how will I get to the top that way, huh?"

"Who says you have to?" Aerith reached out to tug at his cheek, ensuring her next words were heard in their loving context, "After all, it seems like you haven't fit in there."

"C'mon! I need you, at least, to believe in me!" Zack's eyes flashed down at her, mock-wounded, "I mean, I haven't even really begun yet!"

"That means it's the perfect time to try another way, don't you think?" Aerith inquired, still turning over gold-yellow leaves in her fingers.

"Aw, Aerith—what other way would there be?"

"You could always go down," she responded, tugging his arm down to where she was now entirely crouched before the bush. She was vaguely aware that people were passing them by, looking at them oddly, but as it always was when she was with Zack—she didn't care what others thought. He helped her forget herself, and she reminded him how to.

"But what's down?" To his credit, he finally stooped to join her after a particularly well executed poutful face, joining her to examine the intricate branches with his more naïve eyes, "Sorry, aside from you, I mean."

"Well, there is this lovely forsythia, of course." Aerith replied, "And also, from here, you can see everyone's faces, too, rather than always looking just above and beyond them." She nudged good-naturedly, "and, that way, you can notice all the little things that are going on."

"Like?" Zack asked, earnest but skeptical.

"Like the little boy over there, carefully carrying his baby sister." Aerith pointed through the bush's thin branches, "or, over there, the father kneeling beside his crying son, teaching him something important. Or that shopkeeper, offering out a few of his apples to that group of kids-" Aerith pulled Zack's attention to the foreground, "or even just how well his little bush has grown."

"Don't get me wrong, Aerith, it's all great—but that's pretty ordinary." Zack responded.

"So?"

"So it's not going to change a lot-aside from you, no one else is seeing this," Zack paused for a moment, likely a little lost in his own incipient imaginations, "But if some terrorist came flying in who had to be fought…I'm not even twenty-I could still be great! Recognized, even!"

Aerith couldn't help but shake her head, wearing a smile that was half pity and half amusement. He just didn't get it. Taking his cheek, she leaned forward and stole a kiss, "I recognize you, Zack."

"Mmm…I think you need to 'recognize' me a little more," he impertinently replied as she pulled away.

Aerith giggling, flicking at his nose—she both loved and hated this goofball. "I'm serious. You don't need to be what the PKF says is the 'important', or what you think it is—you don't have to save the world," she turned back to look through the bush at the passing stream of people "just a life, or even a moment."

"You already know what I'm gonna say-" Zack smirked.

"—'big damn hero', not just any-old hero." Aerith rubbed her forehead, "Right."

"Right!" Zack replied, with significantly more vigor than Aerith had given the word—his bright blue eyes were nearly dancing, "I can be both! I'll be your hero—" he stooped down, back to her level, and wrapped his arm around her tiny shoulders, "—and, I'll also be the world's hero!"

"But what if that kind of hero isn't helpful." Aerith suddenly added, her voice soft and thoughtful; no longer taken in by his bravado. Her mind had inevitably returned to Cloud.

Zack's brow furrowed—he was confused, she could tell, now that she had steered this conversation in a new direction than how it normally went, "What do you mean?"

"There are people watching, you know." Aerith continued. "People who look up to you. People who want to be like you. People like—"

"Cloud, you mean?" Zack finished, matching her weightiness.

"He follows you around everywhere, Zack. You have to be careful about what you teach him." Aerith fiddled with another stem, "He needs something deeper than just saving the world—" she paused again, "He needs something more than the PKF."

Zack could only tilt his head in confusion. Why couldn't he see it like her? Was he in too deep himself?

"He came to me yesterday. He told me about the things that happen out there." Aerith sighed, "And I know you aren't a part of it, Zack, but it's hurting him; he needs the small and everyday—something to settle him, to connect him with reality."

"It can get pretty dicey out there, sure, you're right—" Zack ventured slowly, "But that's where I can make a difference. That's where I'm giving Cloud a different example. I mean, Aerith, you should see him out there—" he emphasized, "Cloud's talent is off the charts. He was made for this—if he keeps this up, he could be as good—no, better!—than Rinoa!" he snorted at himself, in a sort of astonishment, "He could do great things—he could save _all_ the days!"

Aerith sighed. He still said it like it was the greatest thing in life. "Rinoa's had to a pay a price, too. She fights every day to keep herself grounded-"

"Why are you two hiding behind a bush?"

Together, Aerith and Zack looked up to find Squall's sharp face frowning down at them, with Rinoa beside him, index finger pressed to her lips with an amused smirk.

"Rinoa!" Aerith exclaimed, restraining almost a shriek, and jumped up to fall around her friend's neck. "I can't believe you missed dinner!"

"Was it her's or Tifa's handiwork?" Squall asked, offering a hand to pull Zack up to his feet.

"Mostly Tifa's." Zack smiled, greeting his friend with a slap on the back.

Squall nodded, face serious. "Then I definitely regret not going."

"Hey!" Aerith finally broke her hug with Rinoa to knock the taller man on the arm, before slightly turning to Zack, still refusing to totally let Rinoa go, "Why don't you be my hero _now_ and fight off such insults?"

"I'll even give you some ammo," Rinoa began teasingly, "Guess where we just came from?"

Aerith stifled a laught, as she knew what was coming. Zack sized up Squall with a good look before shaking his head, "Seriously, man? Another one?"

Squall's dark eyes wavered between the three of them, "I have nothing to be ashamed of."

Aerith smiled, "Soon you'll need a whole suitcase just for the belts!"

"Yeah, and people might start to _talk_ , y'know?" Zack snorted back a fit of laughter as he nudged Aerith for a response—as she did her best to refuse his infectious mirth.

"Aw, it's okay, honey," Rinoa released Aerith to put a comforting hand on Squall's stone-like cheeks, "Your belts are…very…hip?"

Squall murmured an acknowledgement, as he adjusted the two leather straps he had wrapped around his waist already. Zack, to Aerith's amusement, continued to seem to chortle at a joke he still hadn't shaken.

"Could be worse-" Rinoa whispered, as she whisked back to hook arms with Aerith, who happily accepted her, "—he could be into plaid."

"So what're we going to do now, eh?" Zack smiled, "Double-date?"

Rinoa, equally cheekily, smiled back, "How about if Aerith and I go on a date, hm? If I know her, I bet she still hasn't gotten a dress for the party?"

Feeling a slight blush come to her cheeks, Aerith could only shrug sheepishly. Rinoa knew her too well.

"It's settled, then!" Rinoa announced, steering Aerith away through the crowd.

"But what about me? Shouldn't I get an opinion on the dress?" Zack called out after them.

"What?!" Rinoa shot back, "Why would we care what you think? Aerith definitely didn't become this beautiful goddess because _you_ gave her fashion advice!"

Aerith burst out laughing at that, managing only a half-way apologetic shrug back to Zack—who was himself laughing hard enough that he had to grab Squall's firm shoulder for support.

* * *

"-and so Cid just lit his cigarette, revved his gizmo, and gave me a thumbs up: 'just leave it t'me, darlin'" Aerith said, though a fit of giggles, attempting her best Cid impression, "and turned back, only to see that Merlin had already magicked up the trellis, along with almost all of the fence!" she laughed, "I felt bad for him, but—his face!"

Zack guffawed, imagining Cid's worked up shock, "And he still won't let Merlin help on the _Highwind_ at all? Even after all that?"

Aerth tut-tutted, "Not even for a second—on principle!"

"I don't know how you navigate between the two of them, Aerith!" Rinoa exclaimed, from her other side, as the four walked down the emptying streets, under the chill of the sunset: Zack, Aerith, Rinoa, and finally Squall (who carried all the bags, also on principle). Under the diminishing light, the Fira lamps had already been lit by the night watch, casting dancing, joyous shadows along their walk back to Merlin's.

Zack breathed in deeply, enjoying again the sheer beauty of being _home-e_ ven as the night turned colder, with a sharp wind beginning to blow down from the northern mountains. He hadn't been sure at first how this day would go, starting off with so many big disappointments, but it was no doubt that—as she always did—Aerith had enlivened every second of the day.

Zack smiled, stepping imperceptibly closer to her as they walked, breathing in deeply again of the night air and the scent of spring flowers that seemed infused to Aerith by some strange botanic magic. He loved her and he loved these days—even if the job was frustrating him so far.

Soon enough Merlin's house, running over as it did with flowers, came into view and Aerith led the threaded way through the gardens to the door. From within, all four could hear the sounds of an intense exchange and Aerith hesitated—"Maybe we should wait a moment out here—"

"And miss this? I don't think so!" Zack exclaimed, bustling past her into the cozy warmth of the house—which was, itself, somewhat disturbed by what was rapidly approaching a shouting match.

"Wizard, I swear, if you try to conversate with all that damn gobbledygook again, I'm gonna kick over a damn table—" Cid announced.

"Cid!" Aerith chided, as she followed Zack in, closing the door as soon as Squall and Rinoa had entered, as well.

"Sorry, Aerith," Cid sighed, "It's just that your old man here can't have a goddamn decent talk about science without bringin' in all his damn wizardry!"

Merlin, sitting in one of the large armchairs across from Cid, merely shook his head—though Zack could tell by now that his knitted eyebrows were holding back as much as they could, "This…ignorant ruffian still refuses to engage with a world bigger than his tiny instruments!"

"Ignorant?!" Cid exclaimed, nearly flipping over as he turned back to wizard, " _Excusez-moi,_ but can you build a damn spaceship?"

"Cid, Merlin—" Aerith cleared her throat, voice firmer, "We have guests."

"Pssh, Squall and Rinoa don't count as no damn guests…" Cid murmured, waving his own greeting to the two officers.

"Thanks, Cid—we love you, too!" Rinoa shot back, with all the friendliness of two long-familiar duelists.

Cid smirked, flicking his nose in response as he eyed Squall, "Son, did'ya buy _another_ belt?"

Tifa rounded the corner before Squall could respond, but Zack nearly choked laughing.

"Don't worry, Aerith—they've been at this for at least an hour," Tifa added, greeting Squall and Rinoa as she came from the kitchen, "It's as friendly as ever."

In her support, Cloud—who had been sitting between the two elders, watching them silently and intently—simply nodded.

"Plus—" Tifa continued, expression filled with self-satisfaction, "I've brought the remedy!"

From behind her back, the young girl produced a broad saucerpan, upon which sat a white-icing topped chocolate cake. A chorus of affirmations and appreciations resounded from all, praising Tifa and her excellence, and the next several hours flew by for Zack in whirlwind of joy and laughter, as months upon months of separation were recounted, exchanged, understood and surpassed by their little family.

The evening waxed late, and when things finally came to a stillness, Zack found himself-having just brought in the wood for the first fire of the season—asking of his only waking compatriot: "Give me a little light?"

Squall nodded and, moving his right arm carefully so as not to disturb Rinoa-who was almost somehow entirely curled up on his lap, sleeping against his shoulder—and caused a small flurry of sparks to catch light and burn with magic in the fireplace.

Zack nodded his thanks as he shuffled the pieces to burn efficiently, "You guys headed out soon?"

"I don't think I'll risk going anywhere at the moment." Squall replied, nodding slightly to Rinoa as he shifted.

Zack smiled and nodded, returning to his seat on one of Merlin's lounge chairs, lifting Aerith just slightly enough to return her gently breathing form to resting on his lap. All was quiet, except for the crackling of the wood. Across from him, Merlin lay slumped in his armchair, his beard shifting with every inhale and exhale. Propped up against the side of the chair was Cid, moved there by Zack from reclining beside the fire and snoring loudly. Cloud and Tifa lay stretched out on the final long lounge, heads leaning back and feet almost touching.

With a long sigh of satisfaction, Zack pushed one of Aerith's long bangs from her face, which had fallen over her thin mouth.

"We're pretty lucky, you know that, Squall?"

"Mmhm."

"What did we do to deserve all this?"

"Absolutely nothing." Squall replied after a pause, as he absently rocked Rinoa slightly in her sleep (like Zack wouldn't notice something do adorable!). It was strangely touching to see the oft-stoic, always aloof, Squall move with such tenderness.

"So…" Zack turned back to watch the small fire, "Have you decided how you're gonna ask her?"

"Not yet."

"Well, I'm still partial to the two-dozen pigeon, dancing-troubadours, and fireworks extravaganza idea myself."

"Duly noted." Squall smirked, still looking down at Rinoa, "Not my style, I'm afraid."

"But that's exactly why you should do it—your style is boring."

"Duly noted again."

Quiet crackling filled the room again.

"….So you gonna tell me what you'll actually…?"

"No."

"Right." Zack smiled, shifting himself comfortably into the seat, closed his eyes and reclined his head with a smile. "Well, when it all falls apart, you can't say I didn't try to help."

"Consider yourself blameless."

"Thanks, buddy."

And as Zack allowed himself to drift to sleep, in total comfort and trust under Squall's fire-watching gaze, he couldn't help but think that if these were the sorts of moments Aerith had been talking about earlier-well, maybe she was right.

* * *

No sleep, nor any modicum of relief, had come to Vincent Valentine. Instead, the opposite of both plagued him as he ascended the gravira elevator to the President's office. His earlier visit to Lucretia had only further entrenched Zack's bizarre warnings deeper and deeper into his mind. The rot at Shinra, the scent of which he had tried to ignore, was now an ever-present nausea.

Unable to find any rest in his quarters, Vincent had again descended into the belly of the facility-but Lucretia was nowhere to be found, even though he knew, for certain, that she worked late every evening. Even though he knew, for certain, that the building's records showed her as still signed into the laboratories.

Paradoxically, he was almost glad to have not found her. He could only have swallowed so many more of her attempts to assuage him. Her earlier explanations had been wanting, at best—Vincent was no idiot, and Hojo was no great liar. There were secrets at the heart of Shinra—secrets even he, a Turk, seemed oblivious to. That made them dark, indeed.

Even darker, Lucretia was willing to lie to him for their sake. For _his_ sake. Maybe that was what truly bothered Vincent. Maybe that was the vehicle that had allowed Zack's paranoia to burrow so deeply inside his brain that he could think of nothing else. She had made her choice, after all this time.

A part of Vincent, the Turk-born and Turk-trained, questioned whether he was acting brashly. Whether he was losing control of the situation. Whether he was about to make a terrible mistake and if he shouldn't just stop and breathe.

But breathing hurt too much. Every breath drove the wedge deeper into his mind. Something was going on here, Lucretia was a part of, he was tacitly defending it, and Lucretia had chosen it over him. Those were the facts—and they were facts that needed to be considered far from Shinra.

So Vincent had carefully written out a final message to Lucretia, leaving it tucked in her desk: he told her his concerns, once again, expressed his regret that she had chosen to go with Hojo, and informed her of his intention: he was to leave Shinra, effective immediately, and if she, too, regretted her choice here, then she knew where she could find him—and he would be waiting.

But now, he rode the gravira elevator to the President because Turks can't just walk out.

With trained calm that failed to betray his inner state, Vincent checked and re-checked his fully-loaded revolver, before returning it to his hip. Habit, he told himself; habit.

With a chime, the elevator announced its arrival on the highest floors. The doors slid open and the scent of the President's office wafted in—a mix of intense cleaning product and rich leather. Noticeably, nearly no light emerged; the evening glow of the city behind Vincent provided more view to the office than any interior illumination.

"Come in, Vincent."

A shadow, reflecting the light of the white of his suit, shifting behind the desk. The President, brushing back the blonde hair that spilled over his forehead, leaned forward into the light of the nearly-full moon that drifted through the glass behind him.

"Mr. President," Vincent began, stepping into only as much of the office as was necessary—ensuring that the elevator behind him remained open, "I am here to tender my resignation."

"That is quite the shame, Vincent." Rufus Shinra leaned back, stroking his chin, "Might I ask what brought you to this point?"

Vincent paused, carefully eying the shadows around him. "A conflict of interest, sir. I can no longer serve the best interest of the Company."

"Ah, I see…" Rufus nodded, now almost seeming to glow in the reflected light as he stood up from behind the desk, "Your self-awareness is appreciated."

Vincent only nodded, no words were needed.

"It may have served you better, however, to be more aware of others." Rufus continued, marching out into the shadows around the edges of the desk and, reaching out, pulled another figure from the darkness.

Vincent tensed, intending to betray no response, but there she stood, gripped around the shoulder by the President. Lucretia. Amongst the shadows, he made out the crumpled piece of paper in her left hand.

"Vincent, I'm sorr—" she began, before the President touched a finger to her lips to silence her.

"We both know she's not," Rufus turned with a condescending smile to Vincent, who was now reaching steadily for revolver, expecting what was about to come, "However, I imagine Tseng might need to express regret soon."

Hearing the brush of movement, Vincent immediately drew his pistol and turned, firing into the approaching darkness to his right. Already, Tseng—utterly quiet, breathless, up till now-was within a few feet of Vincent, swinging down at him with his favored clubs. Vincent ducked out of the way as he fired, and Tseng responded by knocking Vincent's dominant hand up and out of the way, causing his shot to fire off into the ceiling of the President's office.

Immediately pressing his advantage, Tseng—without discernable reaction or emotion—swung low, cracking Vincent heavily in the ribcage with his blunted cudgels. With a sharp grunt, Vincent twisted Tseng's wrist with his free hand, turning the Chief Turk into a new line of fire for the revolver, shooting again just as Tsent flipped backward and out of the lock. Releasing him, Vincent leapt back into the opposite darkness, firing off several more rounds that tore up the walls and artwork of the office, briefly lighting the room with its explosions, but failing to connect with Tseng's twisting form.

With another hard breath that diagnosed and accommodated at least two broken ribs, Vincent knew his tactical advantage was the President. Reloading as he moved, Vincent dashed across the open office, firing another few shots to keep Tseng at bay. In response, the President, still behind his desk and holding Lucretia close for what Vincent knew was insurance, reached into the folds of his coat.

But before anything could emerge, Vincent sensed a new presence too late, as a great, gloved fist cracked into his jawline, thrown from the darkness with the force of a leap behind it. Staggering, Vincent turned the force of the punch into a spin, pulling his assailant forward, and ending up with his revolver pointed at Rude's bald head. As Vincent pulled the trigger, Tseng's club came down upon the weapon, redirecting its blast into Rude's knee, who collapsed under the loss—releasing no more than an abnormally-loud grunt.

Swallowing the blood he now tasted, Vincent grabbed at Tseng's open arm and pulled him into a solid kick to the abdomen, using the force to nearly throw the elder Turk to the ground as Vincent leapt over him. Rechambering another round, Vincent directed his barrel down to the floor, before felt something solid and heavy lodge itself in his chest, knocking the wind from his lungs.

Looking down, a small pointed cylinder—not dissimilar to a bullet—stuck out from his chest. Before he could react, the walls of the cylinder flipped out and forward, stabbing him with three prongs like the tail of a scorpion. Just as he realized what was happening, electricity coursed through his body and Vincent felt the first convulsion wipe his feet out from under him.

In a blood-freezing moment, he realized they weren't trying to kill him.

As he fell, Vincent saw the President lowering his own weapon, a sawed-off shotgun, with a smile. As the second convulsion hit, nearly rolling Vincent's eyes back into his skull, he watched the President pat Lucretia approvingly on the head, as she stood trembling beside him. Between them, Tseng helped lift Rude to his feet.

"Lucretia," the President shook his head sadly as he smoothed out his white overcoat, "Why don't you go ahead and call the good Professor up here, hm?"

Vincent, shaking on the floor, knowing his fate, tried to reach for his dropped revolver, but the third convulsion hit and robbed him of any consciousness.

* * *

 _Just a reminder that reviews are lifeblood for this sort of thing-so if you are enjoying it, wish to know more, see something wrong...review away!_


	8. On Curiosity and Conspiracy

_**.**_

 _ **Chapter VIII: Of Curiosity and Conspiracy  
**_ _I was looking for a breath of life,  
A little touch of heavenly light,  
But all the choirs in my head sang "No"—  
To get a dream of life again,  
a little vision of the start and the end,  
But all the choirs in my head sang "No"—  
~Florence + the Machine. _

Xehanort stood quietly, one hand pressed absently to the glass, as he watched the dark shadows squirm just beyond. They moved like nothing he had ever seen before—with all the instinct of an animal, but with none of the direction. Each convulsively stirred, craning and contorting their necks as their twisted antenna endlessly twitched.

"Another failure is unsustainable," Even. "We can't continue like this and each of us knows it."

"All research eventually plateaus. Elevation is always required." Ienzo.

They would crawl and squirm over each other with no reaction whatsoever. Their dark, oozing-dark, bodies would briefly seem to mold, or meld, becoming one vacuous unit. They'd rip each other apart and reform, twisting and churning as they stumbled their way forward until turned back by the enchanted barriers.

"Couldn't it just be this one dude, though? He seems like one tough cookie." Braig.

"You can only split it so many times—even the most resilient heart will collapse eventually." Dilan. "There is only so much it can bear. We must go deeper."

"I must lodge a complaint—the further we elevate, the more artifice we create, the less useful the data on Kingdom Hearts will be." Even, needlessly, again, "The distance between each individual being and that source is already incommensurate; our adjustments only add more and more variables by which we must reconsider our results."

Ienzo responded, the typical disagreement: "Or, indeed, we get _closer._ How could we be so haughty to think we might change the ultimate? Every step is closer to the truth—increasing the likeness of form between them will create a commensurate perception."

Their beady yellow eyes stared endlessly beyond each other, off into some distant unknown. They had no independent motion of their own; every attempt at what Xehanort imagined was "sight" involved them jerking and twisting their whole ugly, disturbing heads about—as if they were catching a scent. As if something was attracting them. Like they were searching. Hungry.

"Xehanort?" Even, likely with a sneer, "Haven't you any wisdom to dispense?"

Were they like him? Did he feel some measure of perverse sympathy for them? A ravenous longing for something unknown? A lust for something they only caught the aroma of? Xehanort watched their quivering bodies. Was their only distinction that he was conscious of his longing? That he had to suffer for it? That he was tortured for it? Those sickly yellow eyes suddenly seemed almost to stare back at him. Leaning forward, he felt attachment. Were they truly alike? Did they seek what he sought? Or was he alike to them—a byproduct? Was he a failure? Naught but a weak heart?

Was he even human? Was he yet still sane?

"Xehanort…?" Dilan, now, voice calmer. Drawing him back.

It always ended the same. They'd cut deep enough, and darkness would sprout from the heart and consume it. If it weren't for their ministrations, the heart would collapse and return entirely to darkness and become these creatures. Beginning in darkness, ending in darkness, with only a brief, vain, and feverish light in-between. Xehanort's life. The Heartless. They were alike.

Without turning, he finally engaged. "The Princess' birthday is tomorrow." A brief pause. "Today, actually, I suppose. We don't have time for this."

"Whoopee-so what, we're just gonna watch another heart collapse?" Braig snorted, "Fun enough, I guess."

"No." Xehanort responded and reached into the folks of his coat. Pulling out a small vial, he held it up to be examined.

Even frowned, "You had more of the her and didn't tell us?"

"I had hoped to utilize it alongside Ansem, once he was brought to understanding." Xehanort sighed, turning the small vessel between his fingers, "Alas, that appears less likely by the day."

Ienzo turned to the nearby table, filled with sterilized equipment—scalpels, injectors, spreaders. "That should be more than enough to stabilize the heart for further work."

"Bring him here." Xehanort glanced briefly at Dilan, before turning back to the darkness.

"Here? I really must protest—" Even began,

"Shut your mouth, Even." Dilan, glad to finally move, interrupted.

Taking the vial from Xehanort, Ienzo inserted the syringe's needle and withdrew all the swirling contents; a sickly glowing black-green mixture. In moments, Dilan had dragged out the nearly unconscious subject, shaking and hastily sewn.

"Www…wwwhyyy…?" the man mumbled, head lolling back as Dilan stabilized him, kneeling—sort of—upon the clean white tiles.

Ienzo flicked the tube as he approached, "Knowledge leads to comprehension, and comprehension to completion. To know is an end-in-itself."

"Knowledge is security." Dilan added, steadying the man's already bruised and broken arm, "The Garden will flourish and advance by our work."

Braig shrugged, and Even sighed, gathering his clipboard and pen, "We'll see."

Xehanort didn't know how to respond-how could he explain to this trial run (only a forerunner for what will eventually be done to himself) about the sleepless and sweaty nights? Or the crushing pressure of alienation that fell upon him in those early hours when the whole Castle had yet to wake? He could not even explain to his own brothers the horrid, haunting dark vistas that drifted through the half-remembered dreams of a life stranger to him—how could he even begin to disclose that hell to another?

No, all of it was his alone to bear: the night hours spent wandering the halls in total darkness, the sudden retching when darting awake from what little slumber he was still capable of, the condemnation of knowing he was unique without a how or why, set apart by an inescapable melancholia from he knew not where; leaking out from under his skin and within his heart…

This preliminary test, pitiful as he was, was still far better off not comprehending the burden which his sacrifice would begin to solve; his momentous role in the shifting axis of the world would remain, as it did to Xehanort, cruelly opaque.

As Ienzo crouched and sought a vein, Even—as was in his nature—deigned it worthy to continue speaking. "One such as you, miserable though you are, are a piece of Kingdom Hearts. You are a portion of the whole. We are taking you apart, like a good child might disassemble a toy, or a good student a frog, in order to perceive its—your-parts, and by that, comprehend the whole."

"So enjoy it, buddy! Your life is worthwhile!" Braig grinned, "You're a part of something much bigger now!"

Pinching his arm, Ienzo expertly made the injection, even under the subject's weak squirms. Slurred words slipped from his mouth, "ahhh, thhhe…w-wande-derer kn-ows…no…no…resttt…."

For a moment, nothing happened. Ienzo stepped back, taking up his own clipboard alongside Even.

Then, suddenly, the man groaned—a prolonged, unnaturally long drone. His eyes rolled back in his head and a shiver seemed to shoot across his whole body. Dilan stepped back, releasing him, as he slouched forward over his legs—though he didn't fall completely. Even scribbled furiously, Ienzo took closer, more observant, looks.

Something seemed almost to squirm directly beneath his skin, sliding up his arm from the injection site, leaving slight bubbles in its wake. A few short gasping sounds were released, and Dilan grabbed one of his spears, left leaning against the wall.

The squirming, noises, and occasional spasm lasted for precisely three minutes and twenty-six seconds, by Even's later report, before suddenly, and without ceremony, ceasing. The man simply remained kneeling, slouched slightly over his knees. Another few moments passed with no sign.

"Well that was just sad." Braig spoke first, "Looks like we lost him."

Dilan, spear held ready, moved up behind him and took his pulse, confirming Braig's diagnosis with a stern nod.

Even threw his clipboard onto the table, nearly scattering his pile of schematics for the Bastion's power generating system, "What a waste! I told you we escalated too soon—"

"He didn't even turn!" Braig interrupted with his further discontent.

"By way of salvage, we can at least observe them feed." Ienzo frowned, gently placing down his instruments. "There is nothing more to be said for it."

"Indeed." Xehanort affirmed. Such was the nature of their work. He was accustomed to eternal disappointment by this stage. A small part of him even felt some sense of relief; an irrational hope that they were now one step closer to simply turning all instruments upon himself.

"Braig?" Dilan gestured, grabbing a second spear in his other hand.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah…" Braig mumbled, grabbing the subject under his arms and dragging him toward the door to the darkness' cage. The man's head lolled back again, his mouth falling open and his open eyes showing only a blank darkness, like a sheen, covering them. Even rushed back to take a few notes on that.

As Dilan shoved back the shadows, Braig slipped under him and unceremoniously dumped the subject right inside the door, sliding it shut behind him. Together, all four apprentices moved to stand with Xehanort, observing the creatures stumble about their cage. As they watched expectantly, nothing happened. The body, twisted and splayed, lay where it had been thrown and the shadows showed absolutely no reaction to it. One climbed atop it, briefly, before shuffling over and beyond it.

"Well, _that_ is interesting." Even said, jotting down a few more notes. "Perhaps the injection has a lingering effect. They have at least reacted to corpses before."

Xehanort checked his wristwatch. "Leave it. We have other things to prepare for."

Ienzo turned away, reaching among their gadgetry for the PHS. "I will alert Hojo that we are in need of another one."

"Ugh, that guy. Now there's a real loony one." Braig chuckled, "Why can't we just take-out the middle man?"

Even, as he was wont, sneered, "Idiot, he possesses the extraterrestrial." Then to Ienzo, "We'll have to procure more of that, too."

"Ah, right, the doodad," Braig mocked, "Let's just eminent domain all their sh*t, eh?"

"Too obvious." Dilan intoned.

"Our current relationship is mutually beneficial." Even continued, "There is no need to rock the boat."

"Orrrr…we could just stop needing him." Braig poked at Even, "Listen up: if the doodad is pure darkness, and we shoot up with it to keep the hearts rocking, then what about pure light, eh? We got any closer to figuring out those special hearts?"

Dilan responded, "We have a potential lead."

"And what if someone leaks, hmm?" Even answered, returning to press Braig on one of the few issues he had a point on, "If our…delicate relationship with Shinra shifts too much, what will stop them from sharing? Perhaps with the Keybearers?"

Dilan, with the impatience of an exasperated parent, added, "We have a spy within Eraqus' investigation, looking into Shinra—some starry-eyed devotee."

"Is Aeleus aware?!" Ienzo inquired, the first emotions of the evening entering his voice as he tapped away on the PHS.

"Only we are aware of his true purpose." Dilan responded shortly.

Ienzo nodded, straightening his ascot, "Hojo says he has an especially fresh subject in mind."

"Transport it immediately, by the usual route." Xehanort finally answered, tiring of the constant bickering of his fellows. "We must ready ourselves."

Xehanort swallowed his disappointment, locked away his frustrations once again, and, turning from the shadows, entered the gravira elevator. He knew he was coming to the end of himself. This next subject would be the last. If nothing came of him, then they would have no choice—he could suffer it no longer. The experiments must be turned back onto himself.

* * *

But as the Apprentices returned to the top of the Bastion, no one noticed the pool of darkness that slowly formed under their subject. No one noticed when his body slipped into the shimmering void, and no one noticed when it dropped into one of the rivers that ran from Hollow Bastion and out beyond the city.

Someone did notice, though, when it washed up on a rocky shore and the man, pale and wet, choked out his first, new, breaths, greeted to his rebirth by four shrouded figures, stealing into Radiant Garden in the middle of the cold, dark night.


	9. Family Matters

_**.**_

 _ **Chapter IX: Family Matters  
**_ _Of all powers, love forgives most,  
but condones least;  
pleased with little,  
it demands all.  
~CS Lewis_

"You awake?" Aerith whispered, quiet as she could be, even as the earliest rays of the sun dusted their ways through the slightly-fogged glass.

Rinoa's half-groan was her response, "I wish I wasn't."

Aerith carefully shifted Zack's arm, draped over her shoulder, so she could catch sight of her friend—it was almost like their old sleepovers, she thought—except that they actually went to bed now and woke up at a time that reasonable people would still call "morning".

"That makes sense." Aerith replied. Rinoa only smiled and pulled her blanket over her head, turning herself into little more than a balled-up bit of drapery atop Squall's chest. He, himself, was still sitting in the exact same position Aerith had last seen the night before—a feat that half-impressed and half-worried her, though none of it was surprising.

"Well, there's nothing to say for it—" Aerith continued in a whisper, "Time to get the day started!"

A slight murmur from Rinoa, and a shift in the blanket, was her only response. Aerith tittered, as she slipped out from under Zack and flattened out the wrinkles in her dress. Zack, much to her pain, _never_ stopped moving in his sleep and had somehow got himself wrapped three-times round with his blanket, with a pillow under one arm and his head nearly slipping from the lounge.

Shaking her own head, Aerith gently restored his to safer country, lifted a stay leg back off the floor, and restored his blanket to some semblance of order. Turning as she patted down her hair, she took stock of her guests and roommates: dear Merlin, still asleep in his chair, pipe held loosely in hand (she quickly snatched it up, telling herself it was to keep it from falling, but knowing she'd try to hide it from him again—it was such an awful habit!).

Across from him, Cloud lay curled into a ball, his body wedged between the arm and back of the lounge he shared with Tifa—who was now totally stretched out, with the tips of her toes prodding Cloud's side; the contented look of a satisfied slumber stretched across her face.

With a second examination of Cloud, enough to satisfy Aerith he wasn't suffering any sort of sleep terror or disturbance-no twitching, shifting, groans or fluttering eyes—Aerith realized only one was missing: Cid, who she assumed must have headed out early to continue his work. That was pretty typical—she'd have to bring him breakfast later.

"Hehehe…" a brief giggle from Squall's lap-blanket suddenly caught Aerith's attention, "Remember…hehe…remember when I dared you to sneak out some of Merlin's fireworks for Garnet's sleepover?"

"And we nearly caught her room on fire?" Aerith answered quickly, remembering that evening with both amusement and embarrassment.

"Only because you went overboard and brought a whole armful!" Rinoa broke out, "Weren't you just trying to impress her brother, hmm?"

"Okay, that's enough!" Aerith yell-whispered, reaching over to drag Rinoa's blanket from her.

Rinoa, eyes wide, returned with an equally serious whisper, "Nooo, nooo! I'll be good! It's too nice and warm in here!"

"Fine." Aerith smiled, warning her with a wave of her finger, "Be good!"

Rinoa nodded vigorously, as Aerith began to gather a few wayward dishes from dessert, pushing in Merlin's footstool in the process, as it had begun to slip out from under him—as it tended to do. She really needed to anchor it down somehow…

"Would you like any help?" Rinoa asked, following Aerith's tiptoes across the room with her eyes.

"No, no," Aerith chided with a smile, "You just got back _and_ you're the guest. You stay right there."

With a smile, Rinoa nodded her appreciation and pulled the blanket up and over her chin, her eyes still lit with a joy that surpassed the morning and warmed Aerith's heart. There was something so kindly infectious about Rinoa—just a look communicated to Aerith her appreciation, her familiarity, and her love.

"Awww!" Rinoa's muffled whisper came next, "Look at those two under that blanket! So cute!"

Aerith nodded, looking over the back of the lounge as Tifa stretched a little, prodding Cloud to shift and compress himself even more, as if he was trying to disappear into the cushions.

"She certainly is dedicated to him." Aerith sighed. "I'm proud of all she does."

"I think she needs to put her foot down more, you know. Cloud can't be her whole life." Rinoa answered.

Aerith couldn't disagree—everything she gave up for him, everything she sacrificed; she believed, she had to believe, it went somewhere; affected him somehow, but even Aerith would be lying to say it made a clear impact.

"How is Cloud doing out there, Rinoa?" Aerith asked, sitting beneath Zack, without taking her eyes from them.

"I worry about him." Replied the ever-frank Rinoa, much to Aerith's appreciation. "Something is always bothering him. He's always looking over his shoulder, you know?" she kept her bright eyes trained on him, "Sometimes he's there and sometimes he's not. He's a good kid, but there's something missing. He's too quiet."

Aerith raised an eyebrow.

"Not like Squall-quiet. Worse. More isolated." Rinoa responded.

Aerith nodded, understanding totally but unsure what else to say

"It's really good that you took him in." Rinoa continued, "Good, but I have to say, just a touch…crazy."

"It took a little while to convince Merlin." Aerith replied, eyes still attached to Cloud, as if trying to see through everything he had piled up atop him.

"I remember. Your track record with Cid didn't help, either."

"Aw, they get along fine; way down deep—where it counts." Aerith affirmed, knowing how much the bluster of both men covered. They were almost simple that way—everything they had was on their sleeve, just out there to be seen by anyone with the right eyes. But Cloud…Cloud was a good deal more separated; like one of Merlin's old toys: a lockbox inside a lockbox.

"And Merlin has come around to Cloud—and Tifa—just as well." She smiled, "Especially when he saw Cloud's militant cleanliness!"

"So that's why it looks so good around here!" Rinoa acknowledged, as Aerith nodded slightly, her eyes still fixed on Cloud.

"And you, Aerith—how about you?" Rinoa asked, "How are you doing back here in the Garden?"

"Well, you know…" Aerith began slowly, almost hesitantly. Rinoa was prodding at something Aerith hadn't fully allowed herself to recognize, "I keep myself busy. Between work at the infirmary and my own gardens, I barely have time to referee between Cid and Merlin?"

Rinoa's silence told Aerith she was contemplating something, so she continued, "Tifa comes over, too, when she can—we go for walks." With no response forthcoming, Aerith pressed on, "And then you guys come back and I have all my friends again!" she finally turned her eyes back to Zack, joyfully reminding herself that he was here; he was real—Zack was here. And despite being left alone in Radiant Garden, these times made up for it entirely.

"Aww, look at _you_!" Rinoa cooed, "You two! Just look at how you look at him! Your eyes!"

Aerith blushed slightly, brushing back at Rinoa without disturbing Squall, "Physician, heal thyself!"

Rinoa arched an eyebrow, "Was that supposed to be a doctor joke?"

"Er, maybe?"

"What's really wrong, Aerith?" Rinoa suddenly steered the conversation back, her eyes becoming serious just as Aerith realized she had been lulled into distraction.

Knowing there was no point in hiding anything, Aerith sighed, "Things just…aren't right here. I'm feeling…like the Garden is moving away from me."

"What do you mean?"

"I go out there, Rinoa and—you know, it looks the same on top—but underneath…underneath something's changing." She sighed, her eyes drifting back to Cloud, "People aren't like they used to be. They're more scared, and that makes them angry. Princess Kairi's party makes it seem like everything's okay, but…it just feels thin to me."

Cloud's breaths were coming slowly, his short blonde spikes rising and sinking with each one-Aerith spoke quietly now, matching almost the volume of those breaths, "They think there's going to be another war. People are looking for someone to blame—you should hear what they whisper about at the infirmary."

"Yeah," Rinoa nodded, relieving Aerith's verbose embarrassment by her balm of sympathy, "That's what it's like out there, too. Things seem to be balanced on an edge."

"People lock their doors earlier and the gates rarely open." Aerith wondered why she was saying so much, "Every train is suspicious and every visitor, too."

"Everyone looks for a scapegoat." Rinoa affirmed, her voice itself thin.

Aerith, eager for a change, quickly shifted—though not without a hesitating hiccup, "H-how about you? Do you have a date yet?"

"October 13th, next year, of course." Rinoa murmured, still engaged in the prior topic.

"But does Squall know?" Aerith asked, risking a smile to try and push it further.

"Not yet, but he will soon if he doesn't propose himself!" Rinoa replied, her attention lightening, much to Aerith's relief. These sorts of things were dreadfully uncomfortable—especially with Cloud sleeping right there. How was one to talk about their home changing around them?

"Tonight would be a perfect time for him to ask, hmm?" Aerith added, thinking forward to the Princess' birthday.

Rinoa snorted and stroked Squall's chin, lightly, causing him a slight stir, "That's how you can know he won't."

Aerith smiled, her own mind turning to Zack—one day, she was sure—a long way away, when the time was right-maybe he'd-

"Sooooo…what's for breakfast?" Zack suddenly asked with a yawn, blue eyes as startlingly bright and wide as when she had first looked up at them. There was never any 'in-between' with Zachary Fair. Aerith noticed with amusement that Rinoa had definitely startled with Zack's awakening, but tried to hide it by ducking back under her blanket.

"You'll have to make it yourself, Mr. Sunshine!" Aerith smiled sweetly.

Zack opened his mouth to speak, but Aerith interrupted, " _Without_ waking Tifa. Let her sleep."

Zack raised an inquisitive brow at Aerith, a smirk dancing about his mouth as Rinoa giggled from Aerith's rebuke, "Hey, so why is that blanket laughing…?"

Aerith merely shrugged, anticipating the smile with her own, as she leaned back against his legs for a hug.

Zack spoke to the blanket with a grin, as he obliged Aerith's request, "So Rinoa, what're you up to under—"

"Sleeping!" Rinoa announced firmly, as Squall shifted and snored above her.

* * *

Aqua took another breath of the late afternoon air which drifted through the window above the nook she had nestled herself in. Turning the page of another ancient tome- _The Embodied Spiritual Heart_ by some unnamed Master—she eagerly devoured sentence after sentence. This was her favorite time of day—when she could hide away in the quiet, while everyone was off in their own concerns, and breathe the heavy air of books.

 _It is thus a mistake to presume composition alone of the heart, body and spirit. Indeed, there is nothing separable about them-and if they were, it would be naught but an intrinsic failure; a half-formed semi-being; abomination._

Aqua had to pause, leaning her head back against the cushion beneath her to consider that statement, to really live inside it and digest its nutrition.

 _Yet, to presume simplicity alone would, too, be a mistake. The heart is not the spirit is not the body; they are each discernibly separate aspects of being. No given instantiation of being can be complete without each element, in its proper role, receiving and giving to the other two. Each individual is holistic—having body, spirit and heart altogether; indeed, the instantiation of being—the person-is nothing other the full-orbed manifestation of these three bounded together in aspectual harmony. Being is more musical chord than cold equation._

Another moment of consideration; breathing in the majestic image. Was this to make better sense of what she had read of the spells a few weeks ago?

 _Thus, the spirit is married in union to the heart—giving it essence, being and consciousness. The heart then takes up the spirit and garbs it artfully, committing it to a character, a form, a person, with the material of memory, emotion, cognition, and relationship. The heart manifests the spirit as the spirit gives itself to the heart. Taking these two together, the body gives sensory and corporeal manifestation; returning to each the gift of cognition and experience, and in its exterior presentation, the capability to see itself wholly. To remove one aspect invites disaster, but to perceive each particular and yet appreciate the beauty of the inseparable whole is to love life itself—this is the mystery of being, of Kingdom Hearts._

Aqua sighed, laying the book down on her breast and closing her eyes. Only another few paragraphs and she already felt elevated. To stand back and see the whole of life, and herself within, taken up into fullness—well, she pitied the little studies she had read of the Apprentices at the Bastion. They had found the whole answer in picking apart the pieces—as if something dead, pieces broken up from a functioning whole, would somehow better reveal the truth. No, this way of thinking revealed far more to her—it did, in fact, make better sense of the magic she had been studying, particularly with reference to advanced-stage Cure magic—

"Hey, Aqua—" Ven announced, as he strode into the room, eying her curiously, "Uh, what're you doing?"

"Reading." Aqua responded, thinking it would be obvious, "Why—"

But as she looked up to finally see Ven, she remembered why—he was dressed in the flowing white robes of their Father, tinged slightly grey; the most formal attire they had. His small head, with its upward swish of golden-spiked hair, looked like only a small dollop atop the large, swirling robes that entirely covered the rest of his body.

"The Princess' party—" Aqua started, realization-dawning.

"Begins in an hour, right." Ven finished, shaking his head with a smile.

A moment of panic washed over Aqua, but two breaths and a calming thought brought peace to the sudden change, which had totally skipped her mind.

"Don't worry, I can still make it." Aqua closed her book and, gently returning it to its place on the sill, turned and marched down the hall.

Ven, almost stumbling over his robes, followed after her, "Who said anything about worry?" with a snort, "I was worried that _I_ had got it wrong."

Turning the nob to her small room—simple, but _very_ well-colored, in her estimation, with marvelous blues and purples—Aqua quickly moved to her wardrobe, shifting through it to retrieve out her own white robes, slimmer than Ven's and tinged with a light blue shading.

"So that book must've been pretty interesting, huh?" Ven asked, as she slipped the robe over her head and began to fasten its many loops and ties together.

"Absolutely!" she responded, feigning offense that he would even ask, "Just think about this, Ven: if the heart, spirit, and body are all as interrelated as they say, then there must be a way that a Cure spell-through some sort of exchange between heart and spirit—" she recognized that Ven was beginning to only smile out of politeness, but she didn't mind—maybe he'd learn something here, "—then that Cure spell might be able to heal not only the _body,_ but _also_ the deep wounds of the heart."

"That sounds like it could get pretty morbid…" Ven replied, pointing out where a ruffle in her robes lay flipped.

Aqua shook her head, as she finished trimming up the hems. She didn't like them covering her feet—too hard to walk or fight. "It's really pretty exciting actually—Ven, I'm talking about the Ja-level spells. Curaja could, potentially-using spirit as a conduit—heal the heart."

"Well, Aqua, you may be getting bored with the Ga- spells," Ven chuckled, "But I'm still figuring out the Ra-spells!"

"Maybe if you studied more, you'd be able to talk about these exhilarating possibilities, hmm?" Aqua responded, love and familiarity mixed in her chiding tone.

"Orrrrr," Ven dragged out, "I could leave the arcane stuff to you. Me n' and Terra are mostly the blunt force, anyway." He paused, before smiling "Well, Terra, at least."

Aqua laughed with him, as she turned her attention to the mirror and her hair. As she clipped it back, Ven continued, "So what do you think we'll find in the Bastion? What are we even looking for?"

"Father says we are looking for darkness," Aqua replied, tucking a few clips between her lips as she perfected her hair, "Those will be the trails we follow, which will lead us to any connections between Shinra and the Bastion."

"But…how?"

"Just do like he taught us. Feel out for it. Use the Keyblade like a focus to sense out the darkness," she flashed a smile, "And also, good old detective skills will help, too. Look for anything suspicious."

Ven shook his head with a self-demeaning scowl, "You know how I am at that. I'll just have to follow Terra's lead."

"Do you think…" Aqua spoke with consideration, more than aware the thin ice upon which she walked, "Do you think Terra will be able to see things clearly?"

"What do you mean?" Ven replied, voice faltering.

Aqua faltered slightly as brushed back the last few bangs, "You know…how he is. Especially when it comes to Father?"

"I'm not sure—"

Aqua continued furtively, though a little more forcefully than she meant, "You must have sensed it—I'm worried about…"

Aqua turned from the mirror to completely face Ven-his poor, worried face!—oh, he loved Terra so. How could she just so simply undermine that?

"I'm just worried, Ven," Aqua frowned, "I just don't want him to become bitter or angry…I'm probably just too worried—you know how I am-"

Ven's face brightened at her comforting self-effacement, as Aqua hid her own enlarging concern—Ven couldn't be so blind that he wasn't seeing Terra's struggle, right? Certainly, his admiration couldn't obscure Terra that much?

Or was she the one who was blinded?

"You two ready for the party?" Terra himself suddenly announced with a smile, his large frame filling the doorway—made even more broad by his bulky, slight-brown-tinged, white robe, which lay swept around him almost like he had only just arrived from some distant desert journey.

Aqua had already swirled back to her mirror, looking at her two brothers in its reflection. Ven turned quickly to Terra with a grin of own, "Of course! Aqua's just finishing up—she got lost studying this new spell or something—Curax-?"

"Curaja," Aqua corrected, rolling her eyes in a way that only Terra could see; a private "you-know-how-he-is" between the two eldest siblings.

"A Ja-level spell, eh?" Terra raised an eyebrow, "That would be impressive, Aqua."

"She says it would involve some kid of exchange of heart or spirit, right?" Ven continued, eagerly pushing the conversation away from where it had previously been going.

"Sort-of." Aqua replied, as she put the final clips in her hair, ensuring it fell just right. Terra just wore whatever was on his head that day, but Aqua knew—to her private enjoyment—that Ven put even more work than her into that gravity-defying thing his hair did.

"Oh? What would the Master think of that?" Terra replied, his tone that of a teasing joke, but with a dangerous edge to it, "Wouldn't that stray a little close to the ways of darkness?"

"If it heals, it is of light," Aqua quoted, "Everything good has its source in Kingdom Hearts."

Terra looked off past Aqua, "But can something like that exist? Could you even recognize it without some kind of darkness?" he paused and Aqua didn't respond; she knew he wasn't finished, "If everything we see arises from Kingdom Hearts, how can a part of the great Heart not be dark in a world such as this?"

"Dad wouldn't like that kind of question!" Ven chuckled, trying to re-introduce a little levity—but to Aqua's concern, Terra remained solemn, his eyes finally turning to her.

She turned to check herself over one final time, and quoted back simply, "It is not dark that makes the world more interesting, but the multiplicity of light, freely brought into being."

"A quote for every occasion." Terra smiled ruefully, eyes more focused.

Aqua smiled in return, with a slight nod.

"We should get going!" Ven suddenly interrupted, dragging Terra back by his arm-resembling more a young boy trying to hang off an enormous tree branch.

Nodding, Terra led the way out of the hall, Ven still clinging to him, down past their own rooms. Aqua watched the back of his head, willing herself to see through the surface. What was going on inside of that head? They had always enjoyed questioning and challenging each other, but her brother…he was almost embracing the idea of darkness—to be sure, not darkness itself, but more its necessity. He seemed to almost believe it was required; as if the universe couldn't be itself without it-that even, hidden away somewhere in Kingdom Hearts, there must be some flicker of darkness.

There were some of the ancient writers who spoke in similar ways—of the necessity of contrast, of Kingdom Heart's all-encompassing nature, which included even the violent darkness of the universe; but these thoughts had always seemed, to Aqua, to be contradictory and incoherent. If light was the perfect state, how could the source of that light also produce light's corruption?

She needed to read more, she decided—as she always did. For now, though, she needed merely to catch up.

In moments, the three had passed into the center chamber of their little monasterial citadel, centered between the shorter, white halls that stretched out on either side, under their own towers that descended from this main one. Passing underneath the balcony, and the thrones atop the opposite dais, they exited out onto the long stairs that stretched down to the green, rolling lawn, which fell down the great hill which led into the boroughs and districts of Radiant Garden-already filling with lights, as the sun began to set beyond the wall, striking the clear sky with oranges and pinks.

Before them, just beyond the final bower that the stone path led to from their door, Father sat, cross-legged and meditating, looking out over the city. Respectfully, they stood several feet from him in silence, listening to his deep breaths on the light wind.

"Ah, my," Eraqus sighed finally and looked over his students, "What professional looking children I have."

"Thank you, Father/Dad/Master," Came the replies; Aqua still cringing inside at Terra's distant honorific. When had they grown so apart?

Eraqus slowly stood to his feet, his own pure-white robes miraculously unstained, "Once we are within the Bastion, we shall re-evaluate our plans—all the same, however, be prepared and discreet. Look for threats both within and without," he breathed in deeply, eyes closed, "I can sense a tension. We must both continue our investigation and watch over this gathering. That is our duty as Keyblade Wielders."

All three nodded, as Eraqus continued, "But I shall not begrudge any of you some measure of…" his eyes, now open, sparkled lightly, "…fun. It is a momentous occasion after all—I am certain," his voice dipped back to a serious, almost challenging, tone, "that you each can handle yourselves accordingly?"

"Certainly." Terra, serious; though with a hidden depth of mischievousness that Aqua recalled well from their childhood.

"Of course!" Ven, bursting with fun already, announced.

And Aqua, last, all to please: "Yes, Father."

With a satisfied smile, Eraqus turned to lead them down the their hill and into the city below, which had begun to glow all across its great breadth and width in the twilight, as Hollow Bastion itself erupted in radiance from its center, like a flower blooming in the crisp night air, all covered in lights and banners and colors and the warm sounds of music and joy.


	10. A Garden Party: Prima Pars

_I've spent some time between updates fixing up the first three chapters of Kingdom Hearts 1 (plus a bit of the fourth) and I'm pretty happy with how they turned out. I wanted the introduction to this whole Epic to better reflect, in style and grammar, where it stands now, in 2018, rather than in 2008. So please go check it out!_

 _And then, please, leave a review here (or everywhere?)—I hope you enjoy where this goes as much as I do.  
~Mars  
_

* * *

 _ **Chapter X: A Garden Party: Prima Pars  
**_ _And this will be the night,  
to make [our] mark upon the world-  
never look back and  
never  
let  
go.  
~Sugar Song to Bitter Step_

She was beautiful.

It had taken Zack awhile to speak, and even longer to stop bumping into everything—people, trees, Squall's back-on their march to the Bastion: she was just that worthy of admiration.

As it was, now ascending the long, curved stairs that led up to the nearly-glowing castle, Zack had cut himself back to a long glance every five minutes, as if a healthy reminder that Aerith was still there, still radiant, still glowing in some magic of Rinoa's that, rather than obscuring her, seemed to magnify her beauty—this was Aerith in all her glory.

It wasn't like it was even just the dress, he reminded himself. Aerith's usual style was a simple white or pink dress, and this was just like that: perhaps it was a bit longer than normal, as it swooshed around her ankles rather than her knees; or perhaps it wrapped just a bit tighter around her slight frame, or the colors were just so mixed that the contrast proved what a startling shade of mahogany her hair was, or how deep were the green of her eyes.

But maybe, instead, it was the excitement in her voice and the bright radiance of her face, as she pointed out and chirped over every floating balloon or shimmering window; or perhaps it was the constancy of her broad and welcoming smile at every guest who passed, even if they (criminally!) didn't see her—all magnified by the evening's brilliance.

Zack knew he'd have to do some more studying to be sure.

For his part, like Squall and Cloud, Zack had mustered up his formal military garb—black coats and slacks, brass buttons, shaded cuffs for designation, and golden epaulets for rank. He alone, though, had rejected a tie. When Rinoa had approached him, having placed herself in charge of the finishing touches, only Aerith's half-hearted defense (with rolled eyes) that he had faked choking at last year's military ceremonies, had stopped Rinoa's attempted mugging.

Zack would have taken issue, then, with the implication, that he _hadn't_ been truly asphyxiating (he was!), but he'd take such a win against Rinoa where he could find it—even at cost to his credibility.

Speaking of her, she now strolled beside Squall, arm linked with his, looking like the very definition of confident in her simple, off-white, mid-thigh length dress.

"They just look so…" Zack started, turning Aerith's attention from a particularly wild-hatted lady to the couple strutting before them.

"… _professional?_ " Aerith finished, smiling as her attention drifted back to the shower of lights coming down from the Bastion and the sounds of music drifting through its windows, "They're like the perfect blend of stoic and vivacious. Like…peanut butter and jelly!"

"You're really having a good time already, huh?" Zack smiled, glad at the sight.

"Of course!" Aerith responded, looking out of the corner of her eyes, arms laced behind her back, "Aren't you?"

Zack, taking a moment to simply be, observing her in all the illumination of the lights and the shadows of every passing figure, grinned, "Definitely."

Aerith, not in the least unaware of his attachments, narrowed her eyes with her own cheeky grin, "Why, thank you."

Then, with sisterly concern, she glanced backward to Cloud—dressed in the simple, undecorated sharp blue of his own rank (tie and all; he looked in every like he was working to surpass all regalia standards)—and Tifa, who was pulling up the back hem of a dark dress that drew out the amber shade of her eyes and tapered from just above the knee to floor length behind her, both marching along (like little dolls, Rinoa had said) behind them.

"Great! We're doing great!" Tifa responded to no question at all, clearly revealing that her excitement was evolving into nervousness as they approached the Bastion. For his part, Cloud seemed not to have heard Tifa, as his eyes continued to scan the ramparts and towers of the Castle, even as they became ever-more obscured by ascending into the darkness of the sky above.

In fact, it seemed, once one reached above the layer of party-lights and bright rooms, the Bastion's upmost parts were made distinguishable from that clear, black sky only by its lack of stars. But below that point, one could easily mistake the two, the sky and the castle,—for the Bastion was, indeed, covered in lights.

Knowing Cloud wasn't looking, Zack gave a little thumbs-up to Tifa who, stumbling a little, tried to return a smile, but as something which appeared more like an apprehensive grimace.

"We're gonna have to watch out for them, y'know." Zack whispered to the beauty beside him.

Aerith raised an eyebrow, "Wasn't that always the plan?"

"Invitations, sir!" pulled Zack's attention forward, to the two guards by the door, faces covered by their low-sitting helmets, as each beckoned for Squall's papers. In the scattered light, the swords at their hips shimmered. Pulling up close behind them, Zack offered his and Aerith's tickets to the guard opposite.

"And no weapons, sir?" the guard responded, glancing between the ornate invitations and their far more meager guests.

"Nothing other than these!" Zack grinned, punching his fists together. Aerith chided him with embarrassed eyes, though Zack was satisfied to hear a moderate cough from Squall beside him—a rousing success on the "scale-of-Squall's-humor".

The guard, quite unimpressed, waved them past as he took two more invitations from Tifa. "Right, sir."

And then the moment came, as the group passed the threshold together, and the music—strings and drums and some variety of bells—all swelled louder and more triumphant, and the lights became brighter and warmer. The multiple pitches of many excited conversations carried through the air and the smells of breads and wine and little cakes came tumbling along with them.

Squall and Rinoa, professionals that they were, moved gracefully forward, while Zack and the rest stood breathlessly in the hall, as if forgetting they had already handed over their invitations for something so grand.

"I can't wait anymore!" Tifa announced finally, after what felt like ages but was only a few seconds, and, pushing between Aerith and Zack, ran after Squall and Rinoa, who were already beyond their sight.

Awoken by her enthusiasm, Zack felt the lightning in his veins and, taking Aerith by the wrist (and Cloud, as well, so as not to leave him behind), pulled everyone forward into the full light of the Entrance Hall—nearly bumping into Tifa, who had been brought to a stop again beside Rinoa, hand over her mouth, as the party came into view.

Fire magic lit the room in a vibrant and flashing glow, reflecting off the polished granite pillars that circled the hall and illuminating the equally shined floor—which was itself chilled by Blizzara magic, keeping the heat of the lights and many guests at bay. A cacophony of color, like a roiling ocean, shifted through the room—all nobles and courtesans and the upper-crust of the Garden, decorated in every elaborate color and shape—filling the hall, the balcony that circled its upper levels, and the additional halls that fed off to the sides.

Like little white and black fish amidst that colorful ocean, the servants of the Bastion expertly swum, some carrying platters of hors d'oeuvres, others wheeling larger carts of appetizers and desserts for the white linen tables that circled the edges of the room, picked at by the ever-moving circle of guests. Great purple banners hung from the balcony above, waving softly in a breeze that Zack guessed was the work of expert Aero spells that kept the air of the hall fresh and light; without humidity or odor.

Guards stood at the attention by the twin feet of the double staircase, decorated with the carven statues of ancient kings and famous knights, which wound around the fountain at the far side of the hall. The water bubbled peacefully, fed by a brief waterfall emerging from under the apex of the staircase. Between the fountain and the kaleidoscope crowd sat a small orchestra—violins, cellos, guitars, flutes, trumpets, and even a harp and piano. From these, cheery, yet quite high-brow, music filled every open space.

Zack gaped, only just able to reach out in time to snatch something—he didn't know what and it didn't matter—from an offered platter. Stuffing it in his mouth, he stared in awe—this was it! This was the most important place he had ever been—high-ranking generals, presidents of businesses, famous academics and magicians—the only thing missing was the Royal Family itself—which was precisely what he guessed the staircases were blocked off for.

"Let's mosey!" Zack announced to the other five, his mouth still half-filled.

"Where?" Squall and Aerith asked simultaneously, although the latter was far more infected by the moment's awe than the former—her eyes were wide saucers, as well. Tifa, beside her, still had her mouth covered and even Cloud seemed to examine the partygoers with a look of what might be intrigue.

"We gotta claim a spot, of course!" Zack answered, ready to lead the way. "Where will we set up shop?" his eyes roved the Hall, looking for people he recognized, "Aerith, where's Merlin at?"

"He's…not…here, silly." Aerith responded, eyes wandering the party. Maybe she was beginning to understand _his_ point of view, "He's out working on his fireworks."

"I gotta say…" Tifa added, whispering through her fingers, "That table with the cheesecakes is looking like an awfully delicious base."

"Now that's thinking!" Zack agreed, wrapping his arm around Squall, "Let's say you and I go rustle up some drinks and we'll meet you all over there?"

Coolly, and somehow politely, Squall shifted out from Zack's grip, leaving him to stumble slightly, "I'll be staying with Rinoa."

"Alright…" Zack replied, finding Squall's firmness odd, "Then you can escort the ladies over there, Squall, and me n' Cloud-" he hooked his arm through his young apprentice's, causing him to startle, "-will find some drinks!"

Without waiting for a reply, he gave a bow of farewell to Aerith, "Don't let anyone hit on you, alright?"

Aerith hooked her own arm through Squall's open one, pulling Tifa with her, "Well, if Squall protects Rinoa, she'll protect me, and I'll protect Tifa, and Tifa will protect Squall from all the other ladies—" she smiled, as Squall grunted, "—then we'll all be safe!"

"Good plan!" Zack replied, pulling Cloud off into the crowd with him, only just hearing the start of Aerith's insistence that the younger ones could only have sparkling water, much to Tifa's immediate protests.

Zack smiled as the crowd closed in around and they became participants in its liveliness, "Don't mind Aerith, Cloud—a little won't hurt, eh?"

Cloud only nodded, ducking low to miss the extended arm of some overly-fanciful storyteller.

Dozens of billowing dresses and exaggerated top-hats passed by, before Zack caught sight of the great bowls of ice, glowing a slight Blizzara-blue, in which thin-necked bottles of something delicious lay cooling.

Finally letting go of Cloud as he slid his way to the table, Zack began to pour over the names, "Cloud, Cloud—" he waved, "Can you grab us, what—" he counted off briefly in his head, "Five cups-? Wait," he remembered himself, "Six. Six cups!"

Zack pulled out one out bottle to examine the label, "Pea-not no-ear…?" he murmured to himself, raising it as Cloud returned, carefully gripping six wine glasses between the fingers of his opens hands. "Peanot noear, eh? That's fancy, right?" Zack asked, with Cloud nodding in blind affirmation.

As Zack popped out the cork and began to pour, he caught Cloud's eyes slipping back through the crowd to where they came. "Sooo…are you gonna dance with Tifa?"

"Wh-what?" Cloud startled a little, causing the glasses in his hands to clink together and spill slightly.

"Woah, watch out!" Zack whispered—embarrassing attention was no good. Grabbing from a pile of napkins, he began to dab the sides of the cup and Cloud's hands, as he continued to pour with the others, "I mean, there's definitely going to be dancing tonight—and if I'm with Aerith, and Squall and Rinoa of course—you're not just gonna leave Tifa alone, right?"

"I…" Cloud started, clearly having not considered the possibility.

"Aw, c'mon, Cloud. I believe in you." Zack smiled, rustling his hair between re-corking the bottle and taking his share of the glasses, "Besides…I know you want to!"

"But I…I just…Tifa…" Cloud began to respond, his eyes drifting back over the crowd.

"What do you keep-" Zack began to ask, confused by Cloud's gaze, before catching sight himself of a circle of conversants at the end of the drinks table, "Hey! That's Commander Aeleus! C'mon, Cloud—let's take a little detour!"

Doing his best to look professional like Squall (with Cloud obediently behind him), Zack approached the small semi-circle and inserted himself as close to the action, as naturally as he could. One particular noble, dressed in a garish red and fidgeting with his glasses, was speaking.

"—as I always say, whatever is necessary for the survival of country and economy, eh? Can't have one without the other, doncha know?"

Aeleus, fiery ginger hair pushed back and jaw square, nodded slightly before speaking, "Yet, the sheep can survive without sheering."

The nobleman's brow furrowed, as his glanced over the gathered group, "I'm not…I am not sure I comprehend you, Commander?"

"He means people can survive without being used up…" Zack broke in, entirely unprepared, only pausing briefly to remind himself to be _genteel_ ; Aerith would be proud, "…by your—your…however it is you make your money!"

Aeleus' single raised eyebrow and slight twitch of his mouth was enough to keep Zack going for weeks, especially as the first noble remained confused, "I'm still not sure I—and who are you-?"

"I believe they're mocking you, old boy!" Another noble interrupted with a laugh, "Perhaps 'the economy' isn't as you imagine it?"

The first nobleman, pride clearly wounded by Zack's gain, continued to frown, "I'd still like to know who this—"

"Zachary Fair is one of our most…promising new Investigators." Aeleus introduced, "And he is correct, there is more to our greatness than economic engine."

As responses were murmured, Zack couldn't contain his grin—he was fitting in! And so quickly! This was perfect!

But the clink of glasses in his hand reminded him of his mission, and he quickly shuffled all but one to Cloud—who had been as entranced as he, asking in an earnest whisper: "Cloud, I'm just gonna be a minute over here—could you bring these back to everyone?"

Cloud nodded, shifting to balance the glasses among his fingers again.

* * *

"Just tell them—" Zack glanced back the conversation, careful not to miss anything, "I'll just be a minute, alright?"

With the solemn acceptance of one happy to be given something to do, Cloud melted back into the ocean of lights, colors, and music of the Princess' seventh birthday party and Zack, satisfied, fully rejoined the ongoing, and _excessively_ important, conversation.

"All of them for me!?" little Kairi exclaimed, peeking through curtains that divided them from the party in the Hall below.

"Indeed!" Ansem responded, snatching her up before she could dash through the curtains in excitement, "They all want to wish you a very happy birthday!"

As Ansem carried the not-so-little-one, who made inquiry after inquiry regarding the cake and ice cream, back to where her parents were readying, Xehanort moved to the curtain and pulled it aside, getting a view of the crowd for himself. Unfortunately, he knew that nary a one were interested in such an altruistic cause as the Princess had just been told.

Clingers-on and fame-seekers, all of them. Already bloated gluttons, filled by the riches and power of the Garden, yet still hungry for more; a rabid mix of insecurity and greed, seeking to install themselves ever closer to the seats of true power—to those who stood behind him: his brothers, Ansem, and the Royal Family itself.

And while Xehanort could, in some small way, sympathize with their hunger, such was outweighed entirely by their pathetic and desperate methodology. No, these fools did not love the Princess—they loved themselves. Only Aeleus, already among the crowd due to his intense dislike of the spotlight, did Xehanort believe had any love for the Princess down there.

It was trivialities like these that Xehanort hated, though well he could play the role—tonight would be particularly excruciating, however, as his disappointment still ached from the earlier failure and his whole body burned from his ever-increasing sleepless nights.

Suddenly, an energy shifted in the hall below as Eraqus and his three apprentices entered the hall; their plain-cloaked garb causing them to stand out externally as much as Xehanort knew they did internally. They, at least, were earnest—both in their disdain and in their dedication to their naïve spiritual mores.

Their master, most irrational for he was most closed, stood at their head, examining the hall with unimpressed eyes. Beside him, his daughter stood with almost equal self-righteousness, while the younger brother was betrayed by his wide-eyed fascination with the entire charade. The elder, a head taller than the rest, stood behind them, unreadable with a security so practiced that Xehanort knew from experience it could only be cover for a profound desolation.

For that reason, that one was the most interesting of them all.

"Hey, boss…" Braig mumbled, as he sauntered up to examine the crowd with him, "Hey, I didn't know the white knights were coming—did the guards take their fancy swords, y'think?"

"They can't." Xehanort replied, closing the curtain on the whole sorry scene, "They manifest them from some pocket dimension. They can't be separated from them."

"As if!" Braig shook his head, taking a long swig from the bottle of wine that Xehanort noticed for the first time-of course Braig had snatched some already, "It's playing with fire to invite them here with those."

"Indeed." Xehanort responded simply, eyes falling on Ansem, who was still explaining to the Princess, for the umpteenth time, all the wonderful things in store. Unfortunately, it would've been too suspicious to suggest not inviting a group as prominent as Eraqus'.

"Well, no worries." Braig smirked, "The new package is put away, all neat and tidy."

Xehanort nodded, his eyes still on Ansem. There was such…joy on his face. He was so earnestly pleased over such a simple and transitory thing as this. Good for him-but it had been years since Xehanort had last been captured by such a simple feeling as that.

"Oh! That's right—" Braig snapped his fingers, "I noticed that yesterday's, ah, 'leftovers' were gone, so I guess the…" he paused, his eyes drifting to the bottle, "the, uh, leftover-eaters finally got hungry."

Xehanort sighed, "Well, that is interesting. I'm certain that if you tell Even, he'll spend the evening torturing over it."

Braig laughed a little too loudly, and slapped Xehanort on the back, "Damn right he will, if he can't go see it himself." a malicious smirk was his goodbye, "Right-o, bro."

With that, Braig vanished after Even—likely waiting in the library, performing last-minute checks on the power system for the Grand Hall, as far away from everyone else as possible.

Xehanort, though, found himself just watching Ansem play with the Princess.

Now, he was holding her, with one arm outstretched, pretending to teach her some kind of waltz they would perform later when the dancing started up. Something further in him, deeper than exhaustion, ached.

As Ansem laughed and Kairi giggled, Xehanort wondered: if the old man wasn't as rational as he had supposed, then perhaps when approached in his emotion—perhaps then this "father" would agree to what he needed.

* * *

Tifa had been right—the cheesecake _was_ delicious, Aerith thought as she cut off another sliver with her fork, making a point to be as "dainty" as possible. Meanwhile, beside her, Tifa and Rinoa were each on their covert second pieces and Squall…well, for some reason, he appeared to be on lookout.

"So is it everything you ever dreamed?" Rinoa asked, swallowing another bite.

Tifa nodded, with emphasis, "Everything."

"The Bastion can cook up some good food!" Rinoa confirmed with a laugh, "Remember the morning after her birthday last year?"

"I'm surprised that _you_ do." Aerith replied, covering her own laugh.

"Wait, I remember hearing something about this—" Tifa giggled.

"Last year was the first one of these we went to, you see," Rinoa began, nearly snorting her cheesecake out by her own laughter, "And I had a bit too much to eat—"

"And drink." Squall added, without ceasing to scan the crowd.

" _And_ drink…" Rinoa repeated with a sigh, "The next few days weren't my best."

"It took all of my expertise to make sure she could make it back to work!" Aerith finally guffawed.

"But Squall sat by me the whole time—" Rinoa cooed, rubbing his arm, "Rubbing by back, holding my bucket, giving me baths…"

"Too much information!" Tifa exclaimed with a blush, taking another bite of her cake.

Aerith sighed, "I think it's sweet."

"Definitely sweet." Squall muttered, his chiseled-chin twitching ever-so-slightly.

"I just can't get over how beautiful it all is!" Tifa changed subjects, "Not just the food, I mean, everything! I kind of thought it might've been all…stuffy. Like how Squall and Cloud are dressed."

"Ouch." Squall intoned, as Rinoa nearly choked on her cake.

"But it's actually all light and airy and just like a dream!" Tifa breathily sighed.

Aerith had to agree—it was a stunning party that they had stumbled their way into. Everything seemed designed to enchant: music, smells, tastes, even temperature. It was almost like they had entered a fairy land, filled with beautiful shapes and sounds; with an air that almost tasted of magic.

Taking another bite of her cheesecake, Aerith shifted slightly away from the other three to allow a few other guests to reach the table behind them. Even amidst the beauty, though, some small, quiet, unshakeable feeling said that something was missing.

There was something down below, in the flowers and celebrations of the townsfolk on her street, that was missing in grand hall—and it wasn't just the lack of flowers, that she was only just noticing now. It all seemed covered over, somehow. The party was truly magnificent, but was there something—anything-underneath it? It was airy, but was their firm footing to be found?

As Aerith considered this, she began to overhear the conversation of those who were passing by.

"Look, this terror is really quite simple, I say." A tall man with a short goatee pronounced, as he took up his cheesecake.

"Here's what I say—and I've never shied from saying it—but it's a real Wutain problem. They've always been like this." A tall woman in in a dark auburn dress proclaimed a little-too-loudly. "Always pushing their way in."

The man at her side nodded, "I know, dear, very true."

The third member of the party, dressed in a brassy orange, looked covertly about her before speaking in a low voice, "It's in their culture, you know. Naturally more aggressive; more animalistic."

There is was, Aerith soured. Or, at least, a part of it—these far away people had no idea what they were talking about.

The man shook his head in clear disgust, "No wonder they'd turn to such horrendous terrors. They're like snakes, then, eh?"

The first woman nodded all the more furiously, as Aerith found herself gripping her fork ever tighter, "Snakes? I do say they're more like parasites—sucking all the life out of our beautiful Garden just to prop up their ugly little chin—"

"Excuse me," Aerith suddenly interrupted, stepping in their way and trying not to brandish her fork, "Do you know anyone from Wutai?"

"Pardon me?" the first woman startled, her fork clinking slightly on her plate.

"Do you know anyone from Wutai?" Aerith repeated, planting herself firmly before the three-neglecting, she realized too late, that she, also, didn't really know any Wutains. She just didn't like this language; something in her revolted against it—these people, up in these towers, talking about everyone else-

"Who _are_ you?" the second woman peered down at her through thin lenses. "I certainly haven't seen you at any other events…"

Aerith shook her head, waving her fork just a bit too much, "I just don't know how you can talk about people like that without knowing them; like you're so much better."

"The impertinence!" the man cried out, grabbing Aerith's wrist, causing her to drop her fork, "Who do you think you are?"

Aerith, somewhat surprised herself, froze, eyes wide, as Tifa indignantly shouted something behind her. What was she doing? How had the party suddenly turned to this? Or was this how it always, secretly, was?

Suddenly, the man's sneer turned to a cry of pain as a sharp hand cut against his wrist, knocking it free before locking out his whole shoulder with a turn and twist. The two women gasped, nearly dropping their platters.

"Who do _you_ think you are?" Cloud murmured, quite emotionless, though his strikingly bright eyes seemed to burn holes through the thick features of the older man. "Back off."

"I…I…" the man stuttered, before Cloud released him with a flick and he stumbled back. "I should have you-"

"I think we should all forget this happened, don't you think?" Rinoa interrupted, stepping forward with a sweet smile and another bite of cake, "Fighting with the PKF won't get very far with the guards, I'd say."

Gathering himself up with sneer and shake of the head, the older man took the arm of the first lady—who gave Aerith what she imagined to be the dirtiest look she was capable of—and disappeared back into the throng.

"Well, there we go—everyone protected!" Rinoa sighed, turning back with a smile.

Aerith nodded, a little shaken, and received the cup of wine Tifa offered—evidently what Cloud had returned with. The young man himself was staring firmly back into the crowd where the three had disappeared, as Tifa turned to offer back his own cup.

"I'm sorry, I—" Aerith began, not sure what to say, but was interrupted by a sudden deep-voice booming across the hall's rounded walls.

"Attention, my friends, attention: the royal family!"

* * *

Unintentionally, Aqua frowned as she examined the party from behind her Father's shoulder. At this point in her life, while nice, these were hardly novel. She still remembered her first ball, when she was only just slightly older than the Princess was now, just before Father had found Terra.

Even then, she remembered being embarrassed at how she stood out in her robes, beside all the elite of the Garden in their finery. It had only been in watching her Father, wearing the same with dignity and confidence, that she had learned to take not only comfort, but pride, in what she represented.

It had only become pure joy, though, when he had scooped her up at the end of the evening for her first dance.

"What do you see?" Father asked quietly, scanning the room with his sharp, dark eyes.

At once, Aqua, Terra, Ven: "A show.", "An opportunity.", "A good time!"

Arched eyebrows from Terra and Aqua to Ven were easily overcome and brought to brief smiles by his infectious excitement.

"None wrong." Father noted, perhaps himself showing a brief smile that Aqua only just caught. "But don't allow the latter to obscure the form…"

"Master?" Terra stepped forward as Eraqus had fallen silent, his gaze focused on something moving through the crowd.

"That boy…that young man." Father's voice turned solemn. "What do you see?"

Aqua frowned, trying to follow his eyes—young man? The party was full of people, bustling and cheery, without anything particular to distinguish one from another. Was it something beneath the surface?

With a breath, Aqua focused deeper, listening, feeling, touching the energies pumped by incorporeal hearts—and there it was-

"That one." Terra nodded, having felt the same thing.

Weaving uncertainly through the ever-exchanging circles of conversation was a young man in military dress, balancing at least six full cups between his fingers. His broad-spiked blonde hair was, Aqua had to admit, even more impressively gravity-defying than Ven's.

But what really mattered was the darkness that shifted and convulsed within him, sloshing about with less grace than those cups he balanced.

There was darkness in everyone here—more than average, in fact, Aqua wagered—but in most, the darkness ran in familiar treads. Controlled, or hidden, or restrained by some accidentally learned artifice. All those were harder to feel. But in this boy…

"I did not expect to discover anything so quickly…" Father frowned, in slight aversion, "You must all keep an eye on him. His darkness—not only is it great, it is dangerously uncontrolled."

"I feel like I recognize him…" Ven spoke slowly, wracking his brain. "Like, I've seen him before…"

"Master, how can his darkness be so…loose?" Terra questioned, glancing back over the crowd from his great height, keeping an eye on those blonde spikes that had vanished from Aqua's line of sight.

Father shook his head, "I don't know. That's what makes it so concerning. He reeks."

Terra nodded, stepping forward without waiting for affirmation, "I'll keep an eye on him; make sure nothing goes wrong."

Father nodded, "Be discreet. That darkness…it's unstable. Don't allow it to be set off."

As Terra entered into the throng, Father's quiet voice caught Aqua's attention—it was clear to her that Ven was lost in thought, "And I want you to watch both of them, daughter. The darkness is darkness…whether familiar or free. But…" he paused, voice softening, "Make certain you enjoy yourself, too."

"Yes, Father." Aqua nodded; appreciative but aching at the equivalence he made of her brother.

"I mean it, Aqua."

"Yes, Father. I will."

"That's it! I remember!" Ven suddenly announced, smacking his fist to his hand, "He's a friend of Zack—his apprentice, I think. Uh….hmmm…." another pause, matched with an adorably earnest, twisted-up face, "Cloud! That's it!"

"Well, Ventus, use the connections you have." Father nodded, "An apprentice is never far from his master. Seek out answers about this…anomalous young man."

"Yes, sir!" Ven saluted and dashed off along the wall (a little too obviously, Aqua thought),his eager eyes pouring over the mass of faces.

"Father…" Aqua started carefully, "I know that Terra has his struggles. I won't pretend that I don't see the darkness, too." Her voice was quickly taking on its own forthrightness, "But it's a burden that weighs him down, as well. We can help him bear it; the ancient works say—"

"Aqua." Father interrupted, pained eyes still turned to the crowd, filled with its laughter and lights, "I love Terra, too. It is because I love him, because _we_ love him, that he must be watched."

Aqua paused again, hesitantly torn between her Father and a more full-winded defense of Terra.

"Yes, Father. I know."

"Terra skirts a dangerous edge. He is greatly gifted; brunt and direct. But the darkness entreats him." Eraqus sighed, "He longs for things that I cannot provide."

Aqua considered suggesting that they could; that perhaps her Father could find another way; see Terra in a different light. But before she could answer, all attention in the room was drawn to the calm, but loud, voice projected from the balcony above the gurgling fountain.

As the guards at the foot of the double staircase stood to attention and the party fell quieter, Ansem the Wise—dressed in his finest red robes—smiled out to all, as if intensely familiar with each one. His full blonde hair was pushed back behind his head, trimmed neatly to match his moustache and beard. Standing behind him in the shadows of the hall's pillars, were his apprentices, all in a row: Braig, Even, Dilan, Ienzo and Xehanort; all but Dilan (who was in his official commander regalia) were dressed in the sharp white coats of their rank. Evidently, she noted, Aeleus was elsewhere.

Raising his arms, a glass in one hand, Ansem spoke out over the crowd:

"Attention, my friends, attention: the royal family!"

From behind him, through an opulent curtain, emerged the Royal trio to join the Lord Protector. Queen Gwendolyne, only daughter of the High King Taran and Queen Eilonwy, had inherited the dark-red hair of her father, paired with the face of her mother; but shared equally in that boisterous and free-wandering spirit of Taran's that had led them to the defeat of the Horned King and the establishment of the Hartwell Dynasty in Hollow Bastion, many long years before Father had even arrived on the world.

As the Queen curtsied and dipped before the crowd, her husband joined her in a gracious bow. King Aeron, thin but striking with his violet eyes and confident bearing, had been the Castle's young librarian, hired and trained in his youth by the previous bookkeeper. There, under old Taran's auspices and Eilonwy's encouragements, the King and Queen had met and made friendship over hundreds of books and thousands of evenings.

When the time had finally come for the royal wedding, perhaps one of Aqua's earliest memories of the Garden, there had been no controversy, for of course, King Taran himself had come from no noble stock, and Gwendolyn's passion was clear; a romance known and beloved over Radiant Garden.

As the two stood back to their height, Aeron found himself needing to push back his long, chestnut hair as it fell over his face, eliciting a hearty laugh from both his wife, the crowd, and their little child—the center of this whole affair—who giggled and twisted in his arms: little Princess Kairi, now seven years of age, a mess of white dress, striking auburn hair, and everlasting smiles. She attempted her own little half-shy wave out over the crowd, who all cooed—even Aqua found herself involuntarily sighing at her little Majesty.

"T-thank you!" the little Princess flattered the crowd, only just recovering from her appearance, with another adorable jolt that echoed, a bit loudly, about the rotunda.

As he was so good at, King Aeron expanded upon the moment of laughter and care, twisting his well-groomed mustache, "May we not forget—the Queen Mother, of course!"

Aqua was proud to join the final applause, as Queen Mother Eilonwy herself—come a long way from her storied teenage youth, when she was but a princess herself and Taran a young orphan—hobbled forward upon her cane, all her wild hair piled up in a grey bun atop her head. She lifted her purple shawl to wave her appreciative greetings to the gathered onlookers below.

In King Aeron's arms, Kairi scuffled to be let go and, placing her on the ground with a smile, she ran to join hands with her grandmother.

"May the light be shared peaceably among you all!" the Queen Mother smiled in her wizened way.

"May it ever be so." Aqua heard Father whisper, smiling his thin smile; a sentiment echoed by a dwindling few among the crowd who cared enough to repeat the old chant.

"And now, may the party officially begin!" Ansem cried, his own happiness evident, "Maestro?"

Below him, the tall reed of a man conducting the various instruments nodded and, with a sweep, began another eloquent round of music— _simplicitate purissimum in b major,_ if Aqua knew her classics (which she did)—while, simultaneously, numerous doors about the hall flew open, allowing endless servants to flow through with even more numerous carts and dishes filled with even more endless assortments of fine eating. The crowd cheered, the music swelled, and Aqua was momentarily transported back to those childhood moments of awe at such events.

"Aqua, I am going to speak to Lord Ansem," Father said, as she responded with a satisfied nod, "We must—"

Suddenly, near the entrance as they were, both Eraqus and Aqua sensed the change in movement behind them. Turning, they saw the final arrivals, fashionably late, as the crowd, whispering and watching, split to allow he and his entourage entrance.

Into the Hall, with contented smile and arrogant gaze, glided Rufus Shinra, in his purest of white coats, flanked by the smooth darkness that were his Turks. He had only four with him tonight, Aqua noted, re-filing their identities: Tseng (the serious one), Elena (the moderately-serious one), Rude (the other serious one), and Reno (the stupid one).

"Ah, the pieces all fit together now." Eraqus said softly, as he stepped back into the crowd, "Watch Shinra, Aqua—" his last words, "but make sure to enjoy yourself."

Nodding, Aqua herself stepped back into the crowd, and allowed the President and his entourage to pass into the center of the hall. She barely contained her disgust as the party continued to shift around her—the utter self-importance, the complete absorption of this man was evident even in his darkness: so perfectly contoured, she could tell, so known and familiar; it was almost as if he woke up every morning to groom it like a bonzai tree.

This Rufus Shinra, grandson of his name, was total owner of himself—unfortunately, his possessions were wicked and greedy. But her mission was her mission, and Aqua melted back further into the crowd to watch; acutely aware of how obvious her cloak made her and her brothers. It wasn't long until the first noblelady was inquiring about them.

So she made small talk. She entertained and told stories. She fenced with fools presenting their ideas, acknowledged the interesting, and shut-down the ever-present bigots who made their small-minded arguments about those outside of the Garden—totally unaware of the entire universe that lay outside this small world!

Aqua dealt with them all in the same grace and control that her Father had taught her—but she never took her true attention from the roving movements of Shinra, as he charmed the nobles around him and gathered a large circle of sycophants. Time passed, she counted, but neither her Father nor her brothers returned, and Shinra made no obvious malice.

It wasn't, then, terribly long before Ansem's deep and charming voice called out over the crowd again, "Now that we have all settled in, I do believe we owe a song to our dear Princess!"

The crowd's response was multiple, though unified: "Indeed!", "Yes!", "Let's!", "Of course!"

"And I am told—" Ansem's eyes flickered down, warm and inviting, "That we shall have a special musical guest to provide the arrangement-"

Suddenly, her Father materialized from the crowd and at her side.

"—Master Eraqus' foremost apprentice, Aqua Fidelium, is apparently quite capable with the violin!"

Aqua's eyes widened and she froze, as all eyes turned to her. The little noise that Father released made clear to her that he was the force behind this—and now she could feel a slight redness coming to her face. The crowd before her, realizing where she was, parted all the way to the symphony, before the bubbling fountain.

"Go on," Eraqus whispered, "I shall watch him. I told you to enjoy yourself."

Swallowing, Aqua didn't quite move yet. She hated attention. She hated being called "foremost". She hated that her brothers heard that, and that now she would be made to show off for everyone. She loved and hated how her Father showed his appreciation; she loved his love of her, but hated his honor of her. She loved his delight, but hated his pride.

"Go on," he repeated, encouraging, "You've been able to play 'Happy Birthday' since you were four."

Nodding, and swallowing over the sudden attack of nerves, Aqua strode forward through the parted crowd and, approaching the symphony, received a beautifully ornate violin from a short, round man, who bowed in appreciation. Returning the gesture, Aqua took up the piece in her hands, and turned to face the crowd—all smiling with anticipation, breaths held to begin the song.

Looking up, her eyes met the eager bright eyes of the Princess—a blue so dark and lively they appeared nearly as violet as her father's—who's head peaked through the railings of the balcony. She smiled, and Aqua—swallowing again, and allowing herself to flow into the moment, rather than fight it—smiled, too, and touched the bow to the first string.

* * *

Zack hummed happily to himself, well-contented, as he moved his way through the crowd while all their attention was turned to the announcement of the Royals. His conversation had ended well—neither too long nor too short—and he believed he had made an impact.

And with that accomplished, while he loved the royals as much as anyone, he loved being able to move easily through the crowd even more. Time to find Aerith and the others!

Listening idly to their announcements, Zack scanned the heads of the more-or-less still crowd, and redirected himself toward where he thought he could see the top scrap of Squall's scrappy brown hair poking above the rest. He was a tall guy, after all—he'd stick out.

To his surprise, Squall didn't seem to be alone—or even just with the others. A small circle had gathered around near the wall where they had set up, and—if he wasn't wrong—they seemed to be gathered around Aerith, with Rinoa swaggering beside her, adding emphasis to whatever her best friend was saying.

"What's going on?" Zack asked with a curious smile, coming to stand beside Squall, "I thought you said you'd take care of her."

"Unsurprisingly, she's more popular than you." Squall smirked down at him.

"I can see that!" Zack exclaimed, taking a sip of his wine, "What happened?"

"She was a badass, that's what!" Tifa replied, from the other side of Squall, "Aerith called out a bunch of assholes saying stuff about Wutai—" Tifa paused, taking a drink herself, "—thanks for this, by way—"

"And now she and Rinoa are busy educating the interested on peace and love." Squall finished.

Zack felt the urge to step forward and push his way into the center of another crowd, to make it about him, too, as Aerith's partner. But as he watched her speak—he couldn't even hear her words, yet—with such a graceful smile and peaceful eyes, he just wanted nothing else than to let her be.

Though he knew it was furthest from the truth, it was almost like she belonged there. But that was the thing about Aerith—she seemed to almost belong everywhere, because she was herself, everywhere.

Zack loved that about her.

He needed so much, wanted so much-but Aerith didn't need him. She was whole; complete. Aerith Gainsborough was the most satisfied person he knew.

And he loved that.

There were a lot of important people here, Zack knew—and he was smart enough to know there were even more who only thought they were important. But, in his mind, Aerith was truly the most important person here; the most genuine, the most real.

So he just stood back and smiled, as he watched her speak excitedly about how to best "really see another person" and "small acts of kindness", whatever beautiful thing she was saying, as Rinoa hung around her shoulders, punctuating Aerith's peace with explosive commentary about winning some battle by mere conversation.

Zack didn't know how long he watched them, watched her, simply sipping his drink. But it was Squall who nudged him, quietly pointing to the entrance with his chin.

Broken from his warm, fuzzy revelry, Zack followed his gaze to see none-other than Shinra and his guards enter the hall with a flourish.

"Is Vincent here?" Tifa asked, seeing the same.

Squall counted, then recounted, "I only count four. No Vincent."

"Maybe he finally asked Lucretia out." Zack smiled, providing an explanation for something that strangely tugged at him, "Good for him, whatever it is. He doesn't need to work on a night like this."

Just as Zack turned back to continue his admiring, he vaguely heard the Lord Protector proclaim it time for the Princess' song. As everyone turned to face forward, Aerith finally caught sight of him and she smiled; a smile just for him. And he loved it.

She was having a good time, even up here, among all the muckety-mucks—he sighed and tipped his glass to her: well done, Aerith.

At that moment, a single violin began the tune. Zack couldn't see who playing—but he was pretty sure they were somehow playing a prelude to "Happy Birthday" and, even more surprising, it was glorious—even to a tone-deaf guy like him. It was soft enough to communicate that it was only preparatory, but strong enough to ring out through the hall. Energized enough for a party, but with just a hint of…soulful beauty?

Zack shook his head. Soulful beauty? When had he become a poet? These were things that Squall was supposed to notice and say in a solemn and distant voice that would make Rinoa swoon.

As the music peaked, the crowd caught, and the song began—which Zack, despite his notably poor singing voice, joined in with full-throat:

"Happy birthday to you; Happy birthday to you,

Happy birthday, dear Kairi, happy birthday to you!"

And the crowd clapped, and Zack clapped, and everyone cheered and shifted, leaving him to find himself standing somewhat apart from the others as the several cakes throughout the room began to be cut.

As Zack turned to find Aerith and gather her for cake, he found himself, instead, faced with Ven, dressed to the nines in his admittedly weird monk clothes.

"Hey Ven, you're looking awfully…monastic tonight?" Zack smiled with the ribbing.

"And you, too!" Ven replied, "Militaristic, I mean. Sloppy-militaristic."

"Gotta live a little, amiright?"

"I mean…" Ven eyed him again, Zack proud as he noticed every sub-standard cufflink and loosened fold, "You definitely look 'lived'".

"Perfect!" Zack exclaimed, glad to have his work recognized, "So do you want to share some cake with us, or-?"

"Maybe later," Ven responded, "I actually just needed to ask you about something—"

Zack raised an eyebrow, "What's that?"

"Your apprentice, Cloud—" Ven seemed to pause, almost nervous, "Y'know, what's his story?"

Zack frowned, "What do you mean? He's a good kid who joined the PKF and I was lucky enough to have him assigned to me. Why?"

Ven's eyes flitted away, "No reason. I just…never asked before, I guess. And I thought he looked interesting."

"Interesting, eh?" Zack replied, taking another sip, "You came to find me at a party just to ask about Cloud?"

"I just got a…a weird sense from him, is all." Ven's voice quieted; now clearly looking for a way out of the conversation. Zack, for his part, was just confused—sure, Ven was a forward-kinda guy who might make weird comments like this, but it was almost like he was being…

Eh, no reason to beat around the bush.

"Are you interrogating me right now, Ven?" Zack asked.

"N-no!" Ven responded, "I was just curious." He sighed, "You know, Zack, that our Keyblades let us…feel certain things. And there's something going on inside Cloud."

"What? Like what?"

"I don't…I don't know how to describe it." Ven struggled, "It's…I can tell he's carrying a burden."

Zack nodded, "Well, maybe that's true, but don't you think it's better for the people who know him to help him?" he lowered his voice, "Even I think you're being a little freaky right now, Ven—imagine if he could hear you?"

Ven nodded slowly, his face turning red, "Yeah…yeah, I guess you're right. Sorry, Zack."

Ven began to turn away, but Zack—suddenly remembering Eraqus' rebuff from the other day, reached out and grabbed Ven's arm, "Did your dad put you up to this? To come over and investigate me and mine?"

Ven pulled his arm free, shaking his head, and allowed himself to be swallowed up by the crowd, "I'm sorry, Zack. Just be careful, alright?"

* * *

Xehanort stood gathered with his brothers near the foot of the staircases, as present after present was brought to the balcony by the hungry crowd below—like ritual sacrifices presented on an altar. The poor Princess didn't know any better, of course—this was just a party to her, and she was as earnestly grateful for the gifts as he would ever expect a child raised from birth by Ansem the Wise and her sentimental parents to be.

If only they had all had such opportunities.

"I think Professor Hojo is studying you, Xehanort." Ienzo's quiet voice suddenly came over his shoulder.

Looking up, then down, Xehanort found himself staring into the decidedly unpleasant, beady-eyed face of Shinra's top scientist, standing at the bottom of the staircase below. Somehow, even in preparing for a party such as this, the man appeared oily and unshaven—utterly distasteful in every way.

"Did you receive my personal gift, Xehanort?" Hojo asked, eyes turning over the presents as they passed from hand to hand.

"Indeed." Xehanort responded shortly.

"Tell me—what will do you with it, if things go as you hope?" Hojo further questioned, forcing Xehanort to glance briefly over his shoulder to see if their conversation had caught any unwanted attention. Did this fool think they were having a private conversation? Here?

Of course such a weaselly man would think the world revolved around him. Xehanort had no intention, nor need, of indulging him.

"Are you enjoying the party, Professor Hojo?" he asked, feigning as polite a smile as he, foremost apprentice of the Lord Protector, needed when addressing a top official of Shinra Corp.

Hojo frowned, though in a way that seemed mixed with a sort of sickening smile of condescension. Xehanort hated it.

But it worked, and Hojo turned away. His gaze locked onto some party across the room, homing in with that same selfish sense of unaware obsession with which he had just approached him.

"Indeed…and ever only more so as the evening wears on."

Xehanort watched him mingle into the crowd, rightly repelling those he walked thoughtlessly too close to. Soon enough, he was swallowed up and Xehanort was left watching the swirling mass beneath him: too superficial, too false, too wasteful—something in him was revolted. He turned quickly away, wiping at his brow, before nearly bumping into Braig as he stumbled down the staircase, waving his drink and crying aloud:

"Let's party, y'all!"


	11. A Garden Party: Secundae Pars

_**.**_

 _ **Chapter XI: A Garden Party: Secundae Pars  
**_ _For man knows not his time.  
As the fish is snatched in the net,  
as the bird is trapped in the snare,  
_ _so ambushed are the children of men,  
when an evil time falls swiftly upon them.  
~Ecclesiastes 9:12_

"I think now's the time, Cloud."

His inclined head and raised brow spoke curiosity.

"Yeah," Zack responded, "The perfect time."

"Why not at the beginning?" Cloud asked hesitantly.

Zack shook his head; Cloud didn't get it. That's why he needed to do it now.

"Because then you look desperate. You have to wait until the music has lulled her—she doesn't want to be the first one dancing, y'know?"

Zack adjusted his suit, standing up from where he had spent quite a bit of time with Cloud, trying to covertly observe whatever had so bothered Ven—but no luck. Cloud was just Cloud.

"Plus, it's becoming clearer and clearer to me that you won't ask Tifa to dance on your own—so you need an example."

Cloud's eyes widened, but he didn't respond.

"And lastly," Zack jerked his thumb to point to where the others were gathered, up beside the large circle that had formed in the center of the hall to allow for dancing. "I think Rinoa needs some backup in dragging Squall onto the floor."

Cloud nodded his affirmation at that, noticing too how Rinoa clung to Squall's arm, pulling at it every now and then.

"So wish me luck—" Zack leaned in close, "And make sure I see you and Tifa out there soon, eh?"

Cloud swallowed, and nodded again, his eyes drifting off into the distance.

"Don't worry, Cloud—she wants to dance with you!" Zack told him as he turned away, "It'll be great!"

Clearing his throat, Zack carefully pushed through a few stragglers, until he saw her: turned toward the dancers, hands clasped cutely behind her as the hem of her skirt swayed in the breeze made by the swirling arrangement of people already engaged with the music and each other. Perfect.

Reaching out, he tapped her gently on the shoulder.

As she turned, smile blossoming, Zack bowed deeply, "Beautiful lady, may I have the honor of this dance?"

Aerith's offered delicate hand to him, and with a smile, he took it up.

"It would be my honor, handsome sir!" she replied, pulling him up to stand beside her.

"Then let's boogie!" Zack cried, mutual excitement meeting, matching and inspiring the other.

Taking her other hand, he pulled Aerith out onto the dancefloor, surreptitiously sabotaging Squall's position with a bump of the foot, which allowed Rinoa, with a light squeal, to simultaneously catch and pull him out into the dance as well, to which—her having earned the right—Squall dutifully acquiesced.

The song was moderately paced, so as they laughed together, Zack assumed the position he had practiced: left hands together, right hand on her waist. Aerith, far more professional than he, placed her open hand on his shoulder and together, they began to move in rhythm to the sweep of a song that Zack didn't recognize.

Luckily, he was great at making things up as he went along.

"How long do you think it'll be before all eyes are on those two?" Aerith asked, still smiling, "Thank you for helping Rinoa, by the way."

"At least by the end of the next song, I'd wager." Zack replied with a wink, "And I have no idea what you're talking about."

"I'm going to guess even sooner." Aerith smirked back at him, "His four years of ballroom dancing can't go to waste, you know."

"What?" Zack laughed, "Squall's _trained_?"

"No one's supposed to know," Aerith's voice dropped to a conspiratorial low, "Rinoa told me about it once. He's _very_ good."

Zack sighed, "Of course he is. Why am I not surprised?"

"Awww..." Aerith pinched at his cheek, "He's not better at -everything-!"

"Yeah, only most things," Zack snorted, taking her in a slight turn, "But I've been practicing!"

"Oh?"

"Can't you tell?"

Aerith pursed her lips, "Well, I've had to dodge your feet only a _few_ times…"

"See? Improvement!" Zack cheered, sweeping her up into the greater dance around them as the music swelled. Turn, twist, shift, turn, step, step, turn—everything a whirlwind of lights and color, with Aerith the one constant at the center of the universe.

As the music settled again, Zack pulled her closer, and she laid her head on his shoulder, to sway through the slow-paced interim. In such peace, Zack had to forcefully remind himself that he couldn't just close his eyes and drift into blissful rest.

"Any sign from Cloud of Tifa yet?" Aerith murmured contentedly into his shoulder.

Zack shook his head slowly, carefully navigating her around their nearest neighbors. Just beyond them, he heard Rinoa squeal, as Squall did something that was equal parts impressive and romantic.

"No, nothing yet, sadly."

"Those two…" Aerith sighed. "What do you think?"

"He's trying." Zack murmured, trying to eye where Cloud was as he moved, "But he's freaked. I don't know if he knows what he wants."

Aerith nodded. Zack could feel her inward breath tickle his neck, "And she's just waiting. She doesn't want to push him."

"Geeze, these guys…" Zack answered. A brief nod affirmed Aerith's agreement.

"Give it time." She said, "They're not even really themselves yet, you know? For all they've been through…they don't even know who they are."

"Yeah, Cloud definitely doesn't." Zack said, his eyes still examining the crowd as he kept Aerith and himself swaying in motion, "And it just feels like Tifa is lost in that, too."

"Kids, right?" Aerith breathed.

"Hey, I didn't realize I was signing up for parenthood in dating you!" Zack feigned, "I'm not ready to be a dad."

Aerith snorted, "While that's true, I think you became Cloud's father all on your own."

Zack was about to respond, definitely with something smart and witty, but his roving eyes were suddenly caught by someone watching him—or was it Aerith? Some guy with oily hair and white coat—awfully sloppy looking for an event like this. And he was just staring and staring and—

With a trip and stumble, Zack's inattention made collision with the precise moves of another and in a tangle of color, he had to catch Aerith before she stumbled.

"Hey, buddy, sorry about—" Zack looked up to see who he had collided with, only to find the sharp, thin eyes of Rufus Shinra glaring down at him, as he dusted off his slightly-ruffled white coat. Already, his Turks were gathering around like shadows.

"Do continue." Rufus said shortly and sharply.

"Y'know," Zack paused, pulling Aerith up closer as the frustrated animosity of the last two days resurged in him, "I think I'll just apologize to your partner instead—"

Turning to the woman who had quickly separated herself from Shinra, and who was, too, straightening her clothes, Zack was surprised to stare into the ocean-blue eyes of Ven's sister, Aqua.

* * *

"You really just went right up to him and asked?" Aqua chided, shaking her head as she took a sip of her drink and listened to Ven's overly-direct story.

"Well, yeah, I mean—he's my friend. I thought I could…" he shrugged, "Look, it made sense at a time when you weren't staring into my soul."

Aqua snickered, "Maybe you should keep me in mind more often then—but seriously, Ven, you can't just bring up something like that."

"Yeah, yeah…just don't tell dad, okay?" he tried to reach for his own drink, but Aqua swatted his hand away, "I mean, you just did his job—and a whole lot nicer, too. Consider me scolded!"

"Whatever you say." Aqua replied warmly, as she looked over the colorful head-ware and the haze of movement, "Have you seen Terra?"

"You'd think he'd kinda stick out." Ven replied.

Aqua snorted another brief laugh, "He just hasn't come back yet, and with Father still off…"

"Look, the evening's only half-over!" Ven encouraged, brushing back his hair, "We'll have plenty of time to do what needs to be done."

"Now you're the professional, Mr. Obvious?" Aqua raised an eyebrow.

"It was an effective scolding!" Ven chirped.

Aqua moved to take another sip of wine, considering what their next step should be, when an unfamiliar voice broke into their conversation.

"Pardon me, miss, but I feel compelled to inform you that your music was exquisite."

Turning, Aqua had to restrain shock as she found herself eye-to-eye with President Rufus Shinra. His ice-blue eyes were outrageously intense, staring directly and forcefully into her own, interrupted only by the slight flutter of his blonde bangs which fell between them.

"Why…thank you." Aqua finally got out, trying to plan on the fly. She had not expected that one of their targets would seek her out.

"I was hoping that you might do me the pleasure of a dance?" Shinra continued, causing Aqua to almost drop her glass. Nevermind—she definitely had not expected _this._ Now what to do?

She certainly didn't want to dance with him. Yet, there he was, thin hand outstretched, offered in the direction of the wide circle of dancers that had formed. Behind him, his Turks seemed to prowl and shift like hyenas around a pack leader.

Aqua glanced back over her shoulder at Ven, looking for some kind of…something! Say he was already dancing with her, say that he heard Father call them, or that Terra needed something or, really, anything!

But Ven only shrugged nervously, as close to just mouthing "I dunno!" as he could possibly be.

Great help.

Turning back, Aqua decided to take it as an opportunity. Get close, get information, get out. Maybe even the best of both worlds—she could tell Father of her success, while also being able to "have a good time". Perfect.

Curtsying slightly, Aqua took Shinra's outstretched hand, "It would be my honor."

With the practiced professionalism of the elite, Shinra led her to the floor and, together, they entered a well-worn pseudo-waltz; matching the music's tempo immediately. Both of them had been raised around these sorts of events.

"So how long have you played the violin?" Rufus asked, keeping a gentlemanly distance as he turned her about on the floor.

"Long enough." She answered, but checked herself before it sounded too harsh, "Since I was a child."

"Impressive. It shows." Shinra responded. "You are also quite the graceful dancer, I see. Your feet barely touch the ground."

Aqua inclined her head, deciding to drop some more bait. "It comes with years of training with the Keyblade."

"Ah, yes, the Keyblade—a marvelous weapon." Shinra sighed, "Promise you won't share, but I've had my research and development working on creating our own version of it—" he frowned, "and so far, every prototype has been…lackluster."

"It's more than a weapon, you should know." Aqua replied, moving herself in such a way as to almost lead Shinra herself, "Perhaps that is where you went wrong."

"Perhaps," Shinra replied, a thin smile on his lips, "But I like to think that the Shinra Corporation produces more than just pragmatic weaponry—we create. I dare call it art, at times."

Maintaining their careful dance of feet and eyes, Aqua turned with him again—still in disbelief at what she was doing, "Does anyone else?"

Shinra nodded, "Our clientele. It is our art which elevates us above the rest."

"Even the government?"

Shinra chuckled, " _Especially_ the government! Look where we are—all this ludicrous finery; all for a seven-year old child!" he shook his head, "Do you think Shinra would be the Garden's premiere contractor if we did not make exquisite work?"

"It would certainly be out of character. The Bastion does love appearances."

"That they do…" Shinra trailed off, content to simply move with her for the moment as the music slowed. To his credit, Aqua noted, he did not attempt to narrow the distance between them.

"Do you know them well?" Aqua asked, trying not to appear pressing, "The royalty, I mean."

"Only as much as anyone does." Shinra noted offhandedly, "A few state dinners, a moment or two in a reception line. Most of my engagement is on the level of the Lord Protector and his apprentices."

"As is mine—what do you think of them?" Aqua inquired, offering her own take, "I find Aeleus and Xehanort to be quite pleasant."

"Ah, Xehanort's brilliance is renowned. I believe the man could have talked my father out of the business, and had him enjoy it, too." Shinra smirked, "And Aeleus' defense of the Garden is unparalleled. Unfortunately, my associates and I deal mostly with the arrogance of Even and antics of Braig—though they are worthy successors to the Lord Protector, in their own ways."

Aqua nodded, "I believe that Xehanort will take up the mantle when Lord Ansem retires. He's clearly favored by both Ansem and the royalty."

"Indeed." Shinra nodded, "And if not him, then young Ienzo. Too many underestimate him."

"Oh?"

"He is a genius boy—quiet, hidden, even, but ever-engaged." Shinra smirked slightly at Aqua, "He reminds me of myself a bit. When my father died, the Board was—shall we say—shocked to discover whom they had need to deal with."

"And that is how the great Rufus Shinra came to power, hm?" Aqua flattered, prodding the conversation forward. She knew Shinra was too clever to say anything explicitly important, but perhaps she could analyze any implicit.

"Well, the short answer is that there is no longer a board—"

Suddenly, another twirling form collided with Shinra's shoulder, causing him to stumble back, nearly tugging Aqua with him. She was happy—perhaps overeager, even—to release his hand, and so kept her balance perfectly—gliding out of the way of whoever had stumbled into their dance.

"Hey, buddy, sorry about—" the interlocutor muttered, brushing back his jet-black hair. Aqua's eyes widened slightly to see that it was Zachary Fair. Evidently, he was as shocked to have bumped into Shinra, for his words immediately cut themselves off and his face took on an obvious suspicion.

As Shinra dusted himself off and stood back to his full height, Aqua could sense the Turks skulking up through the other dancers, who continued to whirl around them to the uninterrupted music—now, she noted absently, the final cords of the romantic _Carissimi in D Major._

"Do continue." Rufus said shortly and sharply.

"Y'know," Zack paused, pulling a young woman up closer to stand beside him, "I think I'll just apologize to your partner instead—"

As he turned to Aqua, she smiled in amusement as he recognized her, and his face became even more twisted up in surprise.

"Hey—it's…you. With…him?" Zack raised an eyebrow.

"Good to see you again, Investigator Fair." Aqua inclined her head.

"We're so sorry to bump into you like this!" the young woman beside him said quickly, "Let's go, Zack—we'd hate to interrupt."

"Wait, hold on a second—" Zack, breaking from Aqua to turn back to Shinra, "Where's Vincent? Shouldn't he be with you? I've been looking for him."

Aqua didn't betray a response, as Shinra fixed his cuffs, "I haven't the foggiest. My employee's business is their own."

"Yeah, right—like you're that generous!" Zack answered, concerning Aqua (and obviously his partner) with his growing agitation, "Now that I've got you here, I think I should be asking you a few more questions—"

In the flash of an eye, the Turks Aqua recognized as Tseng and Elena were between Zack and Shinra.

"I think it's time you back off." Elena said firmly, "Please."

"I'm sorry, your boss and I were having a conversation—" Zack replied testily, just as another man—taller, a lieutenant in the PKF, if Aqua identified his dress correctly—appeared seemingly from nowhere, behind him.

"Is there a problem here?" he asked, directed clearly to the Turks; face as impassable as the stony walls of the Garden.

Beside him, a shorter woman—black hair with caramel highlight, and even darker-brown eyes—tugged at the arm of the taller man, whispering a little too loudly, "You rescue Zack, I'll get Aerith!"

Tseng, himself the same height as the new arrival, addressed him rather than the pouty Zack, "Step away from the President."

As this happened, Aqua—trying to sink back as far as possible, while still remaining relevant—noted the black-haired woman wrap her arms around Zack's partner and whisk her away. Distracted, Zack turned to see empty space.

"Hey—hey!" he cried, turning to run after them.

"Done." The tall man replied to Tseng, without intonation—but with a clear warning in his eyes—and marched away into the crowd. What a strange bunch.

"Sir," Tseng turned to address Shinra, "I think we should move."

"I suppose so," Shinra, who had ceased to speak or even engage the situation, finally sighed. Reaching out, he took up Aqua's hand and brought it to his lips, "It was a pleasure, Miss."

And with that he, too, melted away into the crowd by the shadows of the Turks. Aqua, with a mild revulsion that forced her to wipe her hand on the hem of her cloak, felt torn between contentment at escaping Shinra and disappointment at not having fished out more information. Sighing, she simply shook her head at the bizarreness of it all and slipped from the dancefloor to find Terra, her father, or both.

* * *

Tifa sighed as she watched Squall and Rinoa sail by again, almost as if they were a single boat being carried in perfect unison with the current of the music. The lights, the music, the colors, the food—it was all so beautiful and lovely; just like a dream (though some of the people could be nicer).

She had never even seen the Royals in person before today! Or heard such beautiful sounds, or enjoyed such luscious treats! Yet, here she was, feeling alone on the shore of it and unable to truly let go and enjoy.

Using her Cloud-sixth-sense, Tifa glanced briefly over to see where he still leaned against a far wall, pressing out and away from everything as if he hoped to sink into the very castle itself. Wait—did he just move? Was he about to-? No. No, he was just brushing back some hair.

Tifa sighed again. Would he ever just come up and ask? She had worn this dress, put her hair just so—n w she wondered if she was just pathetic. She knew Cloud well enough to know this wouldn't be his thing. Why would she have ever dreamt otherwise? Maybe she should just forget it and go out on her own-yeah, forget Cloud! She could enjoy this party all on her own!

But, then again, that just felt like leaving Cloud alone and she knew, after all this time, she couldn't do that.

But maybe just for the evening…?

Tifa fidgeted, straightening her dress as the dance slowed. Why did an insensitive, adorable, shy, deep, socially-inept lunatic like him have to take up so much space in her head!

Absently twisting her hair, Tifa peeked back over her shoulder at him. He still wasn't moving; just leaning quietly. His gaze alternated between watching various people pass and his other expertise: staring off into distant nothing. Tifa sighed again. Maybe she should approach him…

Suddenly, she noticed that something else hadn't changed between her two glances—another figure, a tall man with odd brown hair and dressed in a swarthy robe, stood a few yards away from Cloud, watching him intently. The man was large, so he stood out; a broad-shouldered boulder around which flowed all the other partygoers.

Already bothered, Tifa—now troubled by this suspicious onlooker—decided to take action. If Cloud wasn't having a good time, she certainly wasn't going to let anyone bother him!

"Hey, hey you!" she directed, as she moved away from the dancefloor at the center of the hall and toward the tall man, "Is there something I can help you with?"

"Excuse me?" the man answered, looking down at her with a mixture of confusion and amusement in his eye. This only bothered Tifa more.

"I said, can I help you with something? You seem real interested in my friend over there." Tifa responded, trying not to stomp her foot for emphasis.

The man's brow furrowed, "I don't know what you're talking about, I—"

"Tifaaaa!" came a sudden cry from behind and, before she could turn, Tifa had to spread her stance to receive the onslaught of Rinoa's leaping form, who spun herself around her neck and hugged her close. Behind her, dragged it seemed, came Aerith, who fell upon Tifa's other side.

"Come dance with us!" Rinoa cried, hugging her close.

Aerith nodded, "Zack almost got into a fight and Squall's rescuing him—so we thought we'd come gather you and have our own great time. No more men!"

"Well, I mean, men eventually…" Rinoa added, with thoughtful distance.

"She's been drinking a bit." Aerith whispered into Tifa's ear, "Just ignore anything embarrassing she says about Squall."

In spite of herself, Tifa had to burst out in laughter. This was exactly what she needed—these two beautiful women to enjoy the party with. _They_ wanted her, and their love was palpable.

"Let's go!" Rinoa cried, taking Tifa's hand in her free one and dragging both her and Aerith back toward the center of the hall. Laughing as she was pulled, Tifa gave a little wave to Cloud, who had noticed the whole interaction with semi-surprise eyes.

It only briefly registered, as a fading distraction in her mind, that the tall stranger had vanished into the crowd.

Suddenly and breathlessly, the three of them broke through the circle of guests and were dancing together, spinning and twirling and laughing—the music had sped up just in time.

Rinoa, of course, was the source of the energy—she directed, purposed, and led. Tifa knew, ruefully, that Zack fancied himself the "leader" of their little family, but it was really Rinoa who pushed everyone along. Without calling attention to herself, Rinoa—a true leader—kept everyone energized and pressing forward; always excited, always moving, always flowing.

Not to say that Zack wasn't important—he was a center of energy himself, spontaneous and fun—and brought overflowing zest to everything; but he wasn't Rinoa.

And no one knew that better that Aerith, who now spun with her in such a way, with such a look inher eye, that Tifa thought she was the only person in the world to her. Aerith was a medium—she transferred and focused the energy of their dance, making it alive and engaging in a sort of exciting serenity that only Aerith could capture.

Sighing happily, mixed with a giggle, Tifa allowed herself to be ever-more caught up in the flow, as she spun under the lights of the party to the melody of Aerith and Rinoa's laughter.

* * *

"Ah, Merlin, my friend—I do believe now is about the time?" Ansem stooped over the balcony to speak with the old wizard, "Princess Kairi is quite excited to see your handiwork!"

Xehanort observed Ansem's moves carefully, as he passed time with his charming smile and idle small talk with some noble who had taken his turn to climb the staircase and mingle with the Royals.

The old wizard chuckled, with a deep pride Xehanort could sense, "It's my pleasure to please, Lord Ansem! Give me but a few more moments!"

Nodding, Ansem bid farewell to the wizard and turned back to the royal party, now intermixed with numerous others. Seeing the proud satisfaction on the face of the Lord Protector, Xehanort decided that now was the time; now would be the point of petition.

Disengaging himself from the current conversation (some nonsense concern a pompous and small-minded man had regarding the Wutaians) in such a way that it felt rightfully closed to all involved, Xehanort moved to meet Ansem on his way back up the staircase.

The whole evening had gone off just as imagined—now would certainly be the time that Ansem would be most receptive. Xehanort's heart pounded in his chest; his whole body felt on edge, invigorated by the expectation of this moment. Every step felt compelled, every thought for the last hour had been laser-focused on this necessary attempt.

"Ah, Xehanort!" Ansem smiled at his descent, "Hasn't this just been lovely?"

"Yes, sir. An evening befitting the Princess." Xehanort responded, with a nod. "You have done great work."

"Ah, it is the work of many hundreds of hands—not my two alone!" Ansem's eyes twinkled, discomforting Xehanort for some reason, "But thank you, my son, nonetheless."

"And there is much work yet for those hands to do, sir." Xehanort began carefully, "The work we accomplish here at the Bastion—it can do such good, for all your people. I wish, like yourself, to sacrifice for their sake."

Ansem appeared confused, but Xehanort pressed on. Now must be his chance—Ansem had to be made to understand the depth, the need, the absolute necessity of bringing all the Bastion's resources to bear on the experiments. He needed it.

"Please, sir, allow the experiments to continue, with I as their subject." A sense of panic erupted in Xehanort, heart pounding and hands sweaty and shaking, as he saw the minute change in Ansem's eyes; had he brought it up too suddenly?

It was too late now, anyway—so he pushed forward, "That which lays locked away in the heart could certainly better the whole world—and I am willing to suffer for it." Xehanort pled his case, even as he watched Ansem's face return to that oft-seen refusal, "Sir, for the sake of these people, for the sake of the Princess and her future Kingdom—" Xehanort paused, "For my sake, Lord Ansem…please, allow my experiment to go forward."

Ansem paused, and around Xehanort the whole world seemed to slow. Was it too presumptuous of him to think that Ansem may truly be considering it? That this might be the moment in which he sees the truth; that he fully comprehends the depth of his own plight? The answers _must_ be had. The way forward—himself—was _clear._ The evening's party could only underscore it.

Could it be that his father was finally comprehending the depths to which his soul had sunk?

"Xehanort…" Ansem finally sighed, stepping up beside him to place a hand on his shoulder, "Is now truly the time for such a discussion? But my answer is still no. My son, no truth is worth that cost."

Xehanort swallowed, feeling the warmth of rejection rise to his cheeks while the chill of realization sunk deep into his stomach. So Ansem still knew nothing; understood nothing. Everything remained, in the mind of Ansem, in this tiny place; this castle—and Xehanort remained alone, locked away in himself.

No, clearly Ansem did not know the sleepless nights, the constant anxiety, the eternal dread. He could not imagine the haunting, acute awareness of knowing lack, but not knowing what was lacked.

Ansem knew nothing of those unnatural dark architecture; those blackened pillars and endless, serenely dark sea, remnants drawn up in his night walks from the deepest and most unknown wells of his mind. And the eyes—those yellow eyes watching him, following him, even alone-Ansem knew none of it!

Of course, how could he? Ansem knew who he was. He had _everything_. Ansem was full and complete; he related, loved, recognized, remembered, knew, understood, and possessed himself. Ansem was a person.

And Xehanot was a lack.

Yet he, this full person, couldn't spare even an apology, a sympathy, for the painful personless-ness of his supposed son. Not a morsel for his insatiable gnawing, not a word to soothe the endless ruminations, not a hand raised to remove even the smallest parasite that leeched on his mind.

How could one such as that, on a night at his fullest and most complete, even begin to understand Xehanort's pitted lack? How could Ansem, in his freedom, understand Xehanort in his prison?

Indeed, in that moment, Xehanort realized how backwards he had perceived it.

"I…understand, sir."

"Xehanort. Father."

Xehanort turned to see Even, standing at the top step, looking down at them both.

"Yes, my son?" Ansem gripped Xehanort's shoulder again, moving up and past him. Xehanort felt nothing.

"A minor problem: Braig has tottered his way onto a balcony and is threatening to jump." Even stated clinically, with slight disgust.

"I hadn't realized Braig had suicidal tendencies?" Ansem questioned, Xehanort now effectively forgotten.

"He doesn't." Even answered, "He is rather intoxicated and insists it is for 'sh*ts and giggles.'" a pause, "His words, not mine." Another pause, "We could always leave him."

"Ah, Braig—as exciting as always. Dilan!" Ansem called, "Could you please retrieve your brother before he ruins himself or this lovely evening?"

Xehanort imagined that Dilan nodded and left, but he did not look up to see. His gaze remained firmly over the balustrade, observing his broken reflection in the misty spray of the fountain's waterfall. There he remained, considering and reconsidering, even as Ansem announced to the party the commencement of the wizard's fireworks.

* * *

Zack was still pouting, even as the evening wore later and later. Squall was oddly impressed—he could never imagine himself capable of as many fruitless words as Zack had been mumbling at him for quite awhile now.

"It's just that I'm an Investigator now, and to run into walls everywhere—it's just frustrating, Squall."

"I can imagine." Squall responded; his default response for the last few minutes of conversation.

He certainly felt for Zack, but he was only capable of so much sympathy—and at least fifty percent of his attention was currently, and always, directed toward where Rinoa presently was—at this moment, still dancing out in the hall with Aerith and Tifa. They were a ridiculous bunch together, jumping all over and spinning and hugging, but in Squall's estimation, they were having fun—and that was good enough for him.

"So how bothered are you that Rinoa's been this far away for this long?" Zack suddenly inquired, evidently having worked out his issues on his own.

"Enough. So far, she's survived." Squall nodded, "Only three men have approached her, and a fourth who was too shy. Aerith and Tifa have been defense enough."

"That's…comprehensive." Zack answered.

Squall didn't mention aloud that the Lord Protector's apprentice, Even, had been watching the three from the sidelines of the dancefloor. That was a peripheral, though ongoing, concern he kept to himself, filed under "notable".

More important, though, was that as the evening waxed long, the party guests were finding themselves entertained in other ways, and the dancefloor was emptying—leaving Rinoa and the others ever-more obvious merry-makers on an increasingly-empty circle. Squall didn't like that additional attention.

"She's had a little too much to drink." Squall noted aloud.

"Yeah, she's just a bit tipsy." Zack confirmed.

Suddenly, the Lord Protector's booming voice called out above the party once again, from the Royal's balcony. The little Princess sat upon his shoulders, yawning slightly, as he spoke:

"The highlight of the evening is prepared! If you will all head for the outer balconies, I promise that you will be treated by the great Merlin to a show unlike any other!"

Squall nodded to himself. Perfect timing.

"Agreed." Zack added, reading his mind, "Why don't we retrieve our better halves and take them to see what Merlin's been cooking up?"

Pushing through the slowly dispersing crowd—each headed to one of the broad balconies that the Bastion had in overabundance—Squall could only shake his head as it became clear that Tifa and Aerith were utterly exhausted, moved now only by the sheer force of Rinoa's endless enthusiasm.

With surgical precision, Squall cut his way between them and, giving Rinoa one, final, elaborate twirl—as the other two stumbled back, all breathy laughter—Squall dipped her once, to her cheering smile, and placed her firmly upon her feet.

With a satisfied, heavy-lidded nod, Rinoa sighed, "Perfect."

Zack hooked his arm with Aerith's, "I think it's about time we check out the fireworks, eh?"

"Tifa—Tifa—" Rinoa began excitedly, "This is perfect! You can do it! Go over there and just tell Cloud to come watch with you, he…" she nodded, seeming to be in the process of convincing herself, "he just loves…watching stuff!"

"You can do it!" Zack and Aerith cheered together, as the latter leaned heavily on the former, her breath still a little shaky.

Her smile still full, Tifa nodded excitedly, "Yeah—yeah! It's just like back in Nibelheim! Wish me luck!"

Offering his most encouraging of nods, Squall held a nearly weeping Rinoa by the shoulders as Tifa dashed off to find wherever Cloud was loitering.

"Who'd have thought Nibelheim even _had_ fireworks?" Zack wondered aloud, as they watched her.

"Oh, hush!" Aerith rightfully quieted him, and Squall affirmed her choice with another profound nod.

* * *

With no shock to Tifa whatsoever, Cloud had been precisely where she had seen him last trying to sink into a wall—but, at least, he hadn't yet succeeded.

What _was_ shocking to Tifa, though, was the forcefulness with which she had put the question to him ("Cloud Strife, will you come watch the fireworks with me?") and the forthrightness with which he had answered ("Absolutely.").

Now, here they stood, side by side, leaning over the terrace with the whole city plotted out before them. The leftovers of parades still lit the streets below, creating intricate patterns of light and wafting sounds. It hadn't only been the Bastion celebrating this evening.

The night air was cool and crisp, as it blew by even these low floors of the Bastion. Below them, its great walls dropped hundreds of yards into the sloping hills and gardens upon which the citadel was built. Ancient beyond measure, it's stone still appeared as sharp as the day it was carved—or, at least, Tifa imagined that it did.

She had managed to find a relatively quiet corner of the Castle; the murmur of the partygoers was low, and the sky clear in the glowing moonlight. She swallowed briefly, shifting ever-so-slightly closer to Cloud, who leaned with both arms over the balcony, examining the city as if to perfectly identify where Merlin's first strike would commence. It was so good to see him interested; engaged, even.

In short, everything was almost perfect in the world of Tifa Lockhart.

Suddenly, there was a small puff of smoke from the center of the Second District, and a stream of light raced into the sky. With a great burst of purple and blue, that first explosion broke the calm air with a heart-racing crack and sent flickering sparkles to glide gracefully out of sight.

And with that, it was as perfect as she could imagine.

"Thanks for joining me, Cloud." Tifa offered, watching as another, twisting in red, launched from the Fifth District.

Cloud's eyes were still rapt, out over the Garden, "I like the open air better."

Tifa sighed inwardly. Mostly perfectly. Mostly.

"You don't have to—"

"No, I want to." Cloud interrupted, "I didn't mean to hide tonight."

"It's alright." Tifa replied, as their faces were illuminated again in an array of colors, "I had a good time."

Looking to her for the first time, Cloud nodded, blonde spikes drifting slightly in the breeze, "That's good."

"And…I'm still having a good time now." Tifa continued, shifting slightly closer to him (oh, god, what was she doing?)

"I…I think I am, too." Cloud replied, not retreating.

Closer now, Tifa could see the marvelous ways the reflected colors danced against his bright-blue eyes, "I just…didn't want you to have to hide."

"I just didn't want to ruin your night," Cloud spoke slowly, "You were just so—"

Cloud paused, before seeming to realize how close she had come to him. All of the sudden, almost as if startled, he stumbled back, nearly tripping himself, leaving Tifa to sit alone, level with where his face had just been.

And that was it. Tifa quivered in place for a moment, eyes meeting Cloud's tense—fearful?—look. She wasn't mad, she wasn't angry, she didn't know what she was. Embarrassed? Ashamed? As freaked out as him? What had she been thinking, expecting anything different? What had she ever been expecting?

This was stupid, she was stupid, Cloud was stupid—but all that came together in only a few words, before Tifa turned and rushed off the balcony and back into the castle:

"Oh, Cloud Strife!"

* * *

"I gotta say, Aerith, your old man's a real whiz with the fireworks!" Zack cheered, as another bright explosion lit the sky, punctuating a particularly magnificent eruption in which, it seemed, several streets launched rows of fireworks in a pattern that resembled a tumbling waterfall coming down upon the Garden.

"Isn't he?!" Aerith cried, leaning over the balcony to cheer to the wind for her adopted father.

Zack, extraordinarily content, smiled, as he leaned back a little to capture the whole picture—Aerith, wide-eyes illuminated in the flashing lights, cheering as her voice was drowned out by the percussive explosions. Her long ponytail fluttered in the breeze around her, even as it sent her skirts rustling. Her attention was rapt, her joy unmixed, her love full-throated—and Zack knew he wanted to live in that moment forever.

Unfortunately, a quenched yelp—only heard by Zack through the din because he had trained himself to recognize it over the last year—came from the terrace nearest their own; for Zack, in his self-proclaimed infinite wisdom, had chosen this one for just such a moment as this:

Cloud had messed something up with Tifa.

Damnit!

"Aw, Aerith," Zack leaned forward, tickling her ear, "Cloud just screwed things up big-time. I think I heard her run off."

"Oh?" Aerith turned with a frown, as another round of explosions illuminated behind, "Well, go tell him to go after her!"

"Eh?" Zack raised an eyebrow, "You sure?"

"Definitely." Aerith nodded forcefully, before softening her look with a touch to his face, "Just come back quickly, okay? There's still time before the finale."

"Ab-so-lutely!" Zack saluted, leaning in for a kiss, "I love you."

"I love you, too." Aerith replied, curling up tighter against the balustrade and back to the show. Zack could only drink in so much of the sight of her, peering up with pure joy at the sky, under those beautiful lights, before dashing out and around the corner for a few moments.

There, Cloud sat on the floor of the balcony, looking with wide-eyes at where he now stood; where he imagined Tifa had just taken off.

"Alright, kid—up you go!" Zack rushed forward, pulling the young man to his feet, "Whatever you did, you gotta go make it right, now."

Cloud, looking as petrified as anytime Zack had seen him, nodded, "Yeah, okay...?"

"Seriously." Zack prodded, pushing him into the Castle, "She's just a person, Cloud, and she cares about you—give her some courtesy, alright?"

Nodding again, Cloud stood still, frozen, until Zack took him by the shoulders and forced their eyes to meet firmly.

"Look, do you want to reject her?"

Cloud furiously shook his head no.

"Do you want to tell the truth?"

Cloud's response became decidedly less sure.

"Either way, then, you gotta go!" Zack exclaimed, turning the spikey-haired youth about. "Go on!"

* * *

"Aqua! We're missing the fireworks!" Ven cried, stepping from side to side in clear agitation.

Aqua nodded, as she searched through the thinning attendees, "More importantly, though, we're still missing Terra."

"I'm sure he's already out there with dad or something, right?" Ven answered, trailing to keep up with her.

Aqua snorted, "You think _Terra_ just wandered off to watch the fireworks without us convincing him?"

Ven sighed, "Well, I mean, when you put it like that, no! But maybe dad ordered him to or something!"

"Come on, Ven, we haven't seen him all night. Something's wrong."

Suddenly, an energy caught Aqua's attention; something the force of the Keyblade dragged her to. Turning, she watched as the young spikey-haired kid, Cloud, still sloshing darkness, dashed by. He looked equal parts confused, lost, and dedicated, as his gaze flew everywhere and he nearly stumbled into several other guests.

In a moment, he had passed and Aqua was left pondering what had happened—was this something Father would warn about?

"We need to go after him." came the sudden, serious voice of Terra, seemingly materialized from thin air as the boy passed.

"What—Terra, where have you been?" Ven exclaimed, only having just briefly noticed Cloud pass. His ability to sense the present-darkness was not yet fully trained.

"Now, we need to go now." Terra repeated, pushing both Aqua and Ven before him with his broad reach.

"Shouldn't we tell Father?" Aqua suggested, "I mean, that he's acting suspicious? Something important might be happening."

"We don't have time." Terra answered, gently but firmly, "I've been following him all night. This is absolutely out of character."

"But what about Shinra? And the royalty?" Ven questioned, allowing himself to be swept along far easier than Aqua.

"Shinra's long gone." Aqua answered, "And we've got nothing to go on elsewhere."

"Exactly—this is the first interesting thing to happen tonight." Terra affirmed, now moving briskly past them, "I mean, except for your dance, of course—that was…interesting."

Aqua sighed, "Oh, shush. Let's go."

And, together, the three moved as one after the boy.

* * *

Regulating her breathing, just as she was taught, Tifa slowed her run to a quiet walk. What was she doing? This was foolish. Just running off like that; like a child? She knew better than that. She was more adult than that. How could she let a little thing like Cloud's shockingly stupid ineptitude get to her?

Taking another calming breath, Tifa looked about to see where she had ended up—she'd only just run down some halls, after all (even more foolish now if she was lost—her Nibelheim heritage would be ashamed!).

But, of course, she didn't recognize any of what she was seeing—Hollow Bastion, apart from those beautiful, large halls, seemed to her now to be nothing but a maze of equally vaulting corridors, filled with art and statues and flickering Fira lamps.

Sh*t, was she really lost? For real? How had everything gone from perfect to frustrating this fast? (the loud explosions in the distance confirmed that she was, indeed, missing even more of Merlin's greater extravagances).

And now here she was—wandering the Bastion alone. Who knows—she could be two corridors away from where she came or twenty-two, the ways things turned around in here. How could they expect to hold a party here without losing people, anyway?

"Tifa! Tifa!"

Tifa's heart simultaneously lift and fall to hear Cloud call her name—he had actually comeafter her!

On the other hand, he had _actually come after her._

Turning around, she slowed to watch him run up, panting. How had he known where she was?

"Tifa…Tifa…I'm…I'm sorry…" he breathed, leaning on his knees for a moment.

"Cloud, it's…it's alright." Tifa replied, feeling the embarrassed need to explain herself, "I just felt like maybe it was time to go, then, I mean—"

"I'dliketowatchtherestofthefireworkswithyou." He suddenly exclaimed, all in one breath that came out far too fast and slurred all the words into one.

"You…do?" Tifa replied with slow consideration. What could this mean?

Cloud, for his part, only nodded furiously.

With a slight, tired smile, Tifa nodded, "I hope you kept track of the way back to the hall, because it becomes kind of like a maze out here, I guess."

Cloud, mostly catching his breath, finally stood straight, "We'll find it."

Just then, Tifa's blood ran ice cold, for around the corner, just ahead of them, a nearly inaudible sound seemed to limp. A low, long moan—one which Cloud clearly heard, too, based on how he seemed almost to turn to stone.

"Cloud…what was that?" Tifa whispered, as she listened hard again, making sure it wasn't just a particularly long-winded firework, or the whistling wind.

Another groan, long and raspy, seemed to leak from the darkness ahead of them, following the clear sound of a foot on the stone floor.

Now Tifa was feeling a fear she hadn't felt since those terrible nights her and Cloud were forced to camp in the woods between Nibelheim and the Garden, when wolves would gather around the clearing's edge and every shadow seemed a threat and neither of them would sleep.

"Get ready," Cloud urged quietly, stepping back with Tifa as she raised her fists and readied her stance. Cloud, meanwhile, imitated her as best he could (without his sword, Tifa didn't quite know what Cloud was capable of).

Another low drone; an almost constant rasp. It was getting closer.

Breathe, breathe, breathe, Tifa reminded herself of Master Zangan's words, everything is in the breathing.

A light scraping, perhaps a dragging; another exhaled groan.

Then suddenly, a dark-form staggered into sight, viciously colliding with the opposite wall like a desperate animal rounding a corner. Tifa and Cloud shrieked together and leaped back.

The thing seemed almost to melt into the shadows of the wall; heaving and shifting against them. Then suddenly, the dark form launched forward, stumbled, and fell again, crashing against the opposite wall. Muttered murmurs, like the sound of a dying animal, echoed in the quiet hall.

Cloud suddenly stood up straight, his arms dropping to his side, skin completely white and eyes wide. Tifa followed up behind him, looking closer at the form that now seemed to twist and roll on the ground.

A long hand, bruised and bloodied nearly to black, reached out hopelessly for the nearest grip; the other lay wrapped around the figure's midsection, soaked in a reflective, yet dark, red. The legs beneath it were a twisted mess, angled in ways that seemed impossible, and anything near a face was swollen and bloodied beyond anything Tifa had ever had the misfortune of seeing. With a creeping shock; an even worse fear—Tifa realized this was a human person.

At the very same moment, Cloud spoke in an unbelieving whisper,

"Vincent?"

* * *

Aerith sighed, sad that Zack had to steal away for even a moment, but hopeful that he might do some good for poor Tifa and Cloud. It was such a shame that they were missing Merlin's fireworks—she was so proud of all the work he had put into this, and could vicariously feel his thrill as all the guests—the entire city, in fact!—oo-ed and ahh-ed at his magic.

Breathing in deep of the night air, mixed with the smell and smoke of the show, Aerith felt quite content. All-in-all, she thought, the evening had gone well. Far better than she had expected it to go among all these "somebodies." She had a lovely time with Zack, and a brilliant time with her friends, within a beautiful scene ripped from an artbook—and now she enjoyed the fruits of a long labor of love by the man she respected most: what more could she ask for?

"Miss Gainsborough?"

Aerith turned to the unfamiliar voice, wondering idly why it wasn't Zack calling her.

Instead, framed in the archway of the balcony, a man in a white coat, with oily, slick skin and black hair tied far back, stood watching her with tiny eyes, obscured behind thin glasses.

"Excuse me…do I know you?" Aerith questioned, confused and somewhat nervous without Zack. This man didn't strike her well.

"No, but I know you." The man responded in reedy voice, "I only wanted to pass along a message: your mother sends her love."

In that moment, the fireworks fell silent and the lights turned greyscale. Aerith blinked once, then twice, then tried to speak and found that nothing came out. Her brow furrowed, her lips worked up and down, she tried to raise a hand—but nothing came. No sounds, no words—barely even a thought.

The man, who simply studied her unflinchingly, reached inside his coat and pulled out a small, thin, stem, topped with withered and pressed petals—but not so much so that Aerith couldn't recognize the sunflower that he proceeded to lay on the bench across from her.

In that moment, all her contentment came crashing down and the world titanically shifted. Behind her, the fireworks reached their climax—she had mistook the time, after all—as the entire wall of the Garden erupted in lights; fireworks erupting every dozen yards around the entire perimeter of the city in a magnificent show of color and shine.

But Aerith saw none of it. Her breathing had become labored; the world felt cold. Every ambiguous and vague thought of her whole life, every ethereal whisper of a question thought up late at night, became fully embodied; a parasite whose fangs she felt as they pierced her satisfaction and began to leech; a knife fashioned that cut deep into her gut.

The entire past, an entire future, became a question mark to her as the man, with a single nod, seemed to melt away into the crowd, leaving only a hunger, an insatiable gnawing, which began its devouring work.

It was only a few moments later that Zack reappeared. She tried to speak again, yet nothing came but gasps and the breathlessness preceding tears. Stumbling forward, nearly tripping himself, Zack rushed to her and gathered her up in his arms.

"Aerith, what's wrong?!"

* * *

The fireworks seemed to be reaching their climax in some distant, faraway place, but neither Tifa nor Cloud were noticing them now.

"We've gotta get him out of here now!" Tifa whispered harshly, as both she and Cloud bent over the mangled form of Vincent Valentine—or so Cloud insisted. Tifa couldn't see through the broken bones and bruised skin—bleeding lacerations covered him, almost seeming to meld with what scraps of dark clothing remained on his body.

"I—I'll go find Zack!" Cloud replied, but didn't actually move. His eyes kept darting up to the check down both hallways.

"No—no!" Tifa replied, "If someone did this to him—if we bring him out there—"

"What else can we do?" Cloud whispered harshly again, tearing his eyes away from another check, "We're not Aerith!"

Tifa nodded, anxiety flowing freely, "I know, I know—I just don't know what to do!"

"Hey, you kids really shouldn't be out this late."

Both of them nearly jumped out of their bones, as they turned from Vincent (who they had at least gotten leaned back up against the stone wall, even as he continued to groan and quiver), to see a tall man in a suit, with long red-hair pulled back, who seemed to have just wandered out of nowhere.

But Tifa was enough of a Gardenite to know a Turk when she saw one.

"We need help!" Cloud replied, slipping into the tone of a reporting soldier, "This man is—"

But as he caught on to what Tifa had already noticed, his voice trailed off. The Turk hadn't even responded to the sight of Vincent; he only stared with the barest of disinterest before turning his green eyes—almost glowing in the flickering shadows of the hall—back to Tifa and Cloud.

"Howsabout you let us…" the man slurred, as another bald man in a suit appeared out from the darkness behind him, "Take care of this guy, eh? Seems a bit outta your league, y'know."

Channeling as much of Aerith as she could, Tifa positioned Vincent against the back wall and leaned his lolling head, which whispered words she couldn't decipher, into a more comfortable position before she joined Cloud, fists ready, between the Turks and Vincent. Damn, it'd be easier if she wasn't in this dress!

"I don't think you comprehend the full gravitas of what you have entered into" another voice replied, as the tallest and sternest looking Turk appeared. Behind him, a blonde woman also followed.

It was then that Tifa noticed for the first time the wicked-looking nightsticks, emitting a slight glow, that the each one held.

"C'mon, kid." The second, bald Turk asked, "Just go. This doesn't need to get nasty."

"You're the ones making it nasty!" Tifa spit back, not even sure what she was doing.

"'gonna have to go with the girl on this one," came a sudden, surprisingly light-hearted voice from the end of the hall from which they had originally emerged.

Turning, Tifa's eye's fell with a mix of relief and confusion upon three figures—the speaker, short, blonde upsweep (didn't she recognize him?); one tall woman with short, dark-blue hair, and, finally, the brown-haired giant of a man who had earlier been watching Cloud.

All three was covered nearly head-to-toe in identical, off-white robes—but it only took Tifa another moment to know who they were, for with a flash, each suddenly held an intricate weapon, each with an ornate hilt, long blade, and curved teeth at the end: Keyblades. These were the apprentices of Master Eraqus.

"Aw, crap." The blonde Turk exclaimed, "The President isn't going to be happy."

"The boss won't need to hear shi*t about it." The red head swore and charged, extending his nightstick into almost the length of a bo staff.

With a speed that seemed superhuman to Tifa's eyes, the three were suddenly gone, leaving the Turk to swing through nothing. Instead, the youngest was rebounding off the wall, Keyblade flipped behind him, to descend upon their attack from above.

The giant wielder reappeared between the tall and blonde Turks, swinging his Keyblade in a circle with the power of bat—forcing their retreat further down the hall. As the last Turk, the red-head, turned to extend his own stick and support his fellows, the blue-haired wielder had already taken his wrist and—here, Tifa couldn't believe she saw right—flipped over behind him, locking out his shoulder and kicking out his knee beneath him.

Staggering back to some semblance of order, the shock having worn off, the Turks charged against Keyblade wielders again. Nightsticks crashed against Keyblades with ferocious force, as each Wielder responded to the blunt force with a natural grace and creativity that Tifa had dreamt of in her own training.

Every time a strike was blocked, the blue-haired Wielder would yield back and twist, redirecting their energy as if the whole were some immense choreographed dance.

The blonde Wielder—she remembered, the one who came to the Seventh Heaven every day for lunch; Zack's friend-seemed barely to keep his feet on the ground, trading blow for blow almost as if the force of every clash kept him aloft.

The giant Wielder, with an enormous Keyblade nearly two-thirds Tifa's own height, rained down blows that she believed should have shattered the bones of even those as well-trained as the Turks.

In short, Tifa was entranced.

"Tifa!" Cloud's harsh whisper suddenly broke her reverie, "We should get out of here."

Shaking her head clear and ducking low from the fight, Tifa turned back to Cloud, who had already taken Vincent gently under the arms. Quickly, Tifa hooked her hands under his ankles (ignoring the sickening swelling that doubled their size) and, with a deep groan from Vincent, lifted him in the air.

"Imsorry, imsorry, imsorry…" Tifa murmured to herself over and over, wincing vicariously with every step. But suddenly, she could move no more—in the blink of an eye, the blue-haired Wielder had taken her arm. Her speed was unreal!

"I can't let you and your dark friend leave." She said, both firm and gentle, her large eyes deadly serious.

"Please—he's our friend!" Tifa explained, looking back down the hall at where her two partners fought off the four Turks alone, "We have to get him away from here!"

The woman stared at her, eyes unbending—though her gaze, too, flashed to the fighting of her partners. A yelp by one of the Turks was heard, as a small Thunder spell was conjured about him.

As the milli-seconds ticked away, and the clash of weapons intensified, the woman's eyes turned long to Cloud, too long, who only returned a wide-eyed stare.

Finally, "Run, before they know you're gone." she turned and brandished her weapon, "Also—carry him on your back."

With that, she was gone again, leaping back into the fray with spinning twists that nearly removed several feet from legs. Not hesitating to see what happened next, Tifa helped load Vincent as comfortably as possible onto Cloud's back who, upon hoisting him up, took off at a painful jog down the hall, with Tifa—having had to remove her shoes—close behind, pulse pumping. Why had she let them go?

"Cl—Cloud," Tifa panted, as they turned a corner and Cloud followed one corridor, rather than another, with unwavering confidence, "How—how do you know how to get out?"

"I—don't." he murmured in response, voice shaking with every step as Vincent groaned from his back.

"But—" Tifa started, though Cloud was not finished. His voice was a horrible whisper; his eyes immovably straight.

"I'm just avoiding it."

The chill that snaked its way around her heart was enough exposition for Tifa about whatever it was that Cloud could see, that thing that haunted him from a distance. And so she only reached out to take his free hand with a reassuring squeeze—not even confident she was assured herself. Every shadow seemed suspicious now; every darkness a grasping claw.

Yet, they ran.

And so, they left behind the seventh birthday party of Princess Kairi Hartwell, heir of Aeron and Gwendolyn, and soon Hollow Bastion itself, and made their way out into the night, through the back alleys of Radiant Garden.


	12. A Garden Party: Tertia Pars

_Spent some time this week touching up chapters 9, 19, 23 and 24 of KH1. They needed some help, and I'm rather more satisfied with their repaintings!  
_ _ **  
**_ _Happy KH3, y'all!_ _ **  
**_

 _ **Chapter XII: A Garden Party: Tertia Pars  
**_ _The great tree  
attracts the gale.  
~Chinese Proverb_

It had been said by many, though Xehanort was not himself convinced, that the real power of the Horned King had lain in an enchanted artifact, the Black Cauldron, into which the terrible sorcerer had mixed dark and arcane magicks.

No matter what came to be of his battlements and army, so long as the Cauldron remained—like the stubborn root of a weed—his power would be secure. No matter how many times his monstrous armies were crushed within the canyons, the Cauldron would continually birth their reconstitution.

In this way, despite the ever-changing contingencies of the world, despite every unexpected disturbance, despite every loss, the Horned King endured.

In times such as these, it was as the steadfastness of the Cauldron that Xehanort understood himself: an immovable rock; an unstoppable object; an irreversible course.

Of this he reminded himself, as his consciousness unwillingly relented to hearing again Even's unending rants.

"How could we 'lose' a subject, I ask? How in the name of Kingdom Hearts is that possible?!" Even fumed, "How did he get out? How did he escape the castle?!"

"Has Braig anything to say for himself?" Dilan asked, appearing calm from his seat across the desk from Xehanort—but he knew that was but an act. His terror was given away in the little twitches of his eyebrows and the imprecise tic of his fingers.

"The drunkard is still unconscious." Ienzo replied, matter of a factly; a slight waver to his voice as he looked between Even and Xehanort for some assurance.

"And now, Shinra says another one of his scientists has vanished—directly under his nose! Left, with Eraqus' gorilla of a pupil!" Even paced the office, alit in the earliest rays of the morning sun breaking through the darkness, "Eraqus is holding all the cards now! We're ruined!" turning his sneering face to Xehanort, he mocked, "Don't you care? Everything we've built, tumbling down in a single night?"

Xehanort didn't respond. He already knew how this had to go.

"Eraqus hasn't yet contacted the Lord Protector; he still doesn't know who to trust." Dilan spoke up in Xehanort's stead; another sure sign of his fright.

Ienzo nodded, latching onto the evidence, "Certainly—Eraqus' paranoia is a great boon to us."

"You idiots!" Even seethed, "It isn't paranoia if he has evidence! There was fighting in the Bastion's very halls! He has one of Hojo's assistants, and our test subject is lost somewhere in the Garden with two nobodies!" quivering, his ire turned to Dilan, "Speaking of—"

"The status of my report hasn't changed in an hour's time, Even," Dilan bit back, "A shadowy description and military dress leaves much to be desired. My people are still looking into it."

With a long, hissing sigh, Even finally collapsed into the seat across from Dilan, his face pure scorn, "Not in any infirmary, not on the move—where could he be kept in such a condition?"

The question fell on a mute room, as Xehanort's gaze shifted to his windows and out over the Garden. He could not deny that a fear coursed through him, too. Some aspect of their work had suddenly escaped their control—he had not felt like this since one of the Heartless had claimed the erstwhile maid.

That constant, low-grade anxiety mixed itself around the burning embarrassment in Xehanort's sloshing heart, still acutely felt after Ansem's rejection—which had been tantamount not just to a rejection of his ideas, but to a rejection of _himself._ Though Ansem would deny it, Xehanort knew the truth—the father had rejected the son on that staircase; finally and completely.

He had been dis-adopted. It was over. This new terror was simply the outworking of that; the physical manifestation of the changing tides.

"Once Dilan's report is returned, we will know the identity of our thief." Xehanort finally spoke, perhaps more to himself than to his brothers, "And that problem will be easily resolved."

"What? With _another_ assassination?" Even mumbled, arms crossed. Xehanort raised his hands, at the end of his wits.

"Have you a better way?"

"I'm simply warning that, at some point, this will go far beyond what any of us intend."

"Will you moralize now, Even?" Dilan scoffed, "When did deontology entrance you? Everything we've done has been for the greater good."

Even sighed, "We can only afford so much public activity."

"When everything is at stake," Ienzo said quietly, "Everything must be on the table. The future of our work is the future of the Garden."

Even, unable to resist, chuckled darkly, "Right; like this isn't all about special-little-Xehanort!"

Xehanort, quite used to Even's jealousy, only shrugged, "I am merely the medium, Even. I am the question, not the answer."

"So you've said." Even frowned, turning away to mindlessly read over his shelves. "And what about the missing scientist?"

Nodding slowly, Xehanort rose from his chair. Marching alongside the broad desk, he came to the large armchair in which Braig lay slumped, snoring and drooling slightly. Giving in for a brief moment to the shame and fear—perhaps, even, was it jealousy at the carefree nature of this brother?—Xehanort's broad hand flashed out and backhanded Braig across the cheek.

Coming to with a start, Braig swore and rubbed his face, eying Xehanort with confusion and rising anger, "Hey, what the hell, man?"

"Braig, you have another problem to solve."

* * *

"Daughter, _Aqua,_ how could you be so thoroughly blind?" Father sighed again, rubbing his temples, as he marched back and forth before her, "Perhaps from Ven I would expect such short-sightedness; or from Terra such confrontation—but from you?"

Aqua kept her eyes down. They had been at this ever since he sent off Ven and Terra, keeping her back out of disappointment. She, retelling the story; him, critiquing it. She explaining; him rejecting.

"Father, with all due respect, we could not leave those children and that poor man to be taken by Shinra-"

"When a greater good, a brighter light, is on the line, that is quite debatable." Father interrupted, "Even supposing you were right, was a sword fight in the heart of the Castle simply your best option?"

"It seemed like our only option, at the time. Besides, there is no "greater good" with the light; you yourself said—"

"I specifically said to be discreet!" Eraqus ran a hand through his dark hair, "And the boy—the one dripping with darkness—you let him _go?_ How could you release him like that?"

"Shall I have imprisoned a child?" Aqua retorted, sharper than she had intended.

"You know very well what I mean." Father responded.

"I cannot apologize, Father. I believe we did the right thing. The boy may have been troubled, but he was trying to follow the light, then and there—" Aqua nodded, affirming herself, "And that's what matters."

"Aqua, I cannot comprehend—"

"Uh, ah, ahem?" came Ven's quiet, unsure voice. "I'm sorry to interrupt, dad, Aqua—" he nodded, "But besides some drunk guy, there was no one at Zack's girlfriend's home."

"Do you have any idea where he or his apprentice might be, then?" Father questioned, collapsing in the nearest wooden chair.

"I...I don't." Ven responded, "I've never been to Zack's apartment—all he ever talks about is Aerith's. Besides, it's just some hole-in-the-wall somewhere. You couldn't keep someone there in as bad shape as that guy was."

"Finding your friend is of the utmost importance now, Ven. We need that poor soul," glancing intentionally to Aqua, Father continued, "But you must be discreet. Light is patient. Shinra is like a cornered animal now. They know that we have seen their darkness."

Ven nodded and opened his mouth to respond, only for the sound of a door nearly being kicked down, then slammed shut, to interrupt him. Ven moved out of his way just in time, as Terra rushed into the room, stumbling to draw the curtains, as in behind him followed a young woman, dressed in a white labcoat, with long brown hair piled atop her head and a fearful look in her eye.

"Terra—what is this?!" Father exclaimed, eyes wide.

"Master, President Shinra played dumb—even as I watched the Turks behind him cover the bruises I gave them." Terra closed the final blind and, with a swipe, lit the room with Fira, "But I have recovered one of their scientists—this is Lucretia. I took her from Shinra, to present to you."

Swallowing nervously, the woman, Lucretia, gave a small bow to Father, who's head turned in interest. Aqua herself was shocked, but proud—Terra had brought back someone from _inside_ Shinra!

"I take it you came voluntarily, Miss?" Father inquired, eying her. The woman responded with a furious nod.

Voluntarily, Aqua marveled! This was good, great, news, indeed!

A small piece of her murmured in jealousy, that her Father now approved of Terra and was disappointed in her, but that piece she ordered quiet and exiled. A win for her brother in the eyes of their Father, so desperately necessary, was not a loss for her.

"Tell us about yourself!" Ven encouraged, coming to stand beside her.

"Well, I'm Lucretia Crescent, as you now know." The woman started, glancing oddly to Terra, "I work under Professor Hojo on Shinra's confidential projects. But after what happened recently, I just…I can't. Not anymore."

"What happened?" Father prodded, pulling up another chair and inviting her to sit down. For her part, Aqua remained kneeling across from them.

"More and more…human experiments. I had been trying to ignore it; just do my job, you know? But…" she sighed, biting her lip as her eyes began to moisten, "What they're doing is horrific. Then there are the ones we ship off to the Bastion—"

"Who do you ship them to?" Terra asked, coming to stand behind her, eclipsing her slight frame.

"I..." Lucretia began, before breaking down entirely, "Please, could I just—is he here? Could I see Vincent?"

Confusion flashed between Eraqus, Aqua, and Ven.

"The President's Turk?" Ven wondered aloud.

"Y-yes, we...he…" Lucretia couldn't finish, "Terra said that you had found—"

Her voice trailed off, as her eyes—along with the eyes of the everyone else—turned to look at Terra. He frowned slightly. "We'll have him soon enough, right, Aqua?"

"W-wait! You mean he's not here?!" Lucretia cried aloud, as she sank back weakly in her chairs, arms falling heavily to her sides.

Aqua's eyes narrowed slightly—had Terra lied to get her here? And was this implying that the man she had seen in the Bastion—that broken, bloodied, pulp of man—had actually been the Turk Vincent Valentine?

"Lucretia…" Terra murmured, crouching down to see her face-to-face, "We will find Vincent; I promise. But for now, please tell my friends what you know. It will help."

"I—I won't. No more!" Lucretia sniffed, calming herself, even as her breath still came in hiccups, "Not until you have Vincent. I-I r-refuse to give away my leverage! I-I know how these games are played."

Terra frowned and stared at her for a moment before standing to his full height again.

Aqua watched the both of them carefully, as Father sighed, "I suppose that settles it, then. We must find the two who have him. Ven?"

Ven nodded, becoming unintentionally more excited, "Alright, here's my new plan—I'll bet you anything that Zack is looking for me, too, after yesterday."

"So why wouldn't he just come here?" Terra inquired, keeping himself near to Lucretia, as his eyes flickered occasionally to the closed windows.

"Duh, because he's not looking for you or dad." Ven shook his head, " _I'm_ his friend. So, here's the deal: I always have lunch at the Seventh Heaven—and he meets me there a lot."

Aqua noted the time; eleven thirty. She saw Ven's plan coming together. Father, evidentially did as well, because he answered Ven's unfinished words:

"That is a good a start as any, my son." Father nodded, "Aqua and I will follow at a distance. At best, he'll answer your questions. At worst, we shall follow him."

"Exactly!" Ven affirmed, proudly.

"Sir, what about me? Why am I not to go?" Terra asked.

Eraqus looked to Aqua, sadly, "Because I do not trust your sister to watch our guest and keep her safe. Remain here with Lucretia, Terra." Turning to the woman herself, Father bowed slightly himself, "Miss, with the blessing of the light, we shall return with Vincent Valentine."

"Please do. I promise I will tell you everything I know." Lucretia replied, settling herself and her breathing. Behind her, Terra frowned, but took up his role with the same silent acceptance with which he received everything.

Aqua watched the interaction with the acute pain of her father's criticism stinging like a slap. Somewhere deep inside, she felt her own tears beginning to pool. But she would not release them.

As she stood to follow her Father and Ven, bowing to their guest on the way, Aqua told herself that her Father criticized from his ignorance, rather than his earnesty.

That was, however, a small comfort.

No one else spoke as they exited, until they started on the winding path down into the Garden, slowing down to allow Ven—with such life and purpose in each step—to dash ahead. It was then that her father whispered the only words he spoke the whole way down:

"Aqua, this time, if we find that boy and secure Valentine, the former must be quenched entirely. His darkness is a threat to the light."

Aqua didn't respond, nor did she nod. She only stared straight ahead and wondered how they had to come to this path.

* * *

"Aerith…Aerith…" came a gentle voice that stirred the young flower girl from her restless sleep.

Opening her aching eyes, Aerith found herself looking into the compassionate chocolate orbs of Rinoa, leaning over her with a small, sympathetic smile.

Lifting herself onto her elbows, Aerith realized that she had awoken in Squall and Rinoa's apartment. Maroon walls, covered with various paintings by Rinoa herself, warmed the atmosphere and helped Aerith to relax. A small bookshelf, mostly empty, two oaken bureaus, and the bed itself—taking up most of the room's space—filled out their bedroom.

The only sign of Squall was the collection of belts—some of which Aerith could only marvel at having never seen before—which hung on the back of the door, leading out into the kitchen and living areas.

"Where's Squall?" she asked.

Rinoa vanished into a small closet to the right, emerging with a simple white dress that she offered to Aerith. Realizing she was still wearing her party dress, now rumpled from sleep, Aerith welcomed the gift and swiftly started changing.

"I made him and Zack fight over the couch. You and I got the bed, of course." Rinoa grinned as she took to making the bed, after Aerith stood to examine herself in the mirror, "You might not remember, but we all crashed back here after…everything."

As Aerith carefully laid the party dress aside for later retrieval and slipped on Rinoa's offer—suspiciously noting it seemed oddly similar to one she was still missing—she couldn't help but wonder at the woman who currently hummed as she placed her pillows just so and adjusted the sheets: no hangover? Nothing at all? Rinoa had drunk more than all of them combined!

"Where's Zack?" Aerith asked, turning about in the mirror.

"He left about the same time as Squall. He said he was sorry and that he loved you, but he didn't want to wake you up."

Aerith shook her head—Zack had already gone to hit the pavement, and she loved him for it, but she missed him. It would've been nice to wake up near him, at least. Maybe have breakfast together…

"He was headed straight for Shinra, apparently." Rinoa said carefully, "And Squall went to get Merlin from the Bastion."

Oh.

Right.

In that moment, the calming cloudiness of the morning evaporated in an instant and Aerith remembered, with terrible clarity, how the evening's glory had darkened when some Shinra scientist started talking about her mother.

She had told Zack right away, and he left her just as soon to chase him down. Only a few moments later he returned, angry at finding nothing, but quickly became apologetic—as he found her an embarrassingly blubbering mess on the floor of the balcony as the last of Merlin's fireworks lit the sky.

Merlin…her father, really, her dad. He raised her, cared for her, fed her, schooled her, protected her—he did everything a father was supposed to do. But had he told her the truth? How was it possible that a few silly words could suddenly call to the witness stand almost two decades of love from him? Why did she feel this horrible distance; this terrible urge to hide from him, her own father, when she knew he was coming? Why did this new hunger ache so?

"You have to talk to him, Aerith." Rinoa said quietly, coming to stand in the mirror's reflection beside her, "Something like this will eat you alive." She shook her head, draping herself encouragingly around her neck, "Damn creepy guys saying creepy stuff…look, I'm sure Merlin will help clear this up. We'll figure it out, I promise."

Aerith nodded slowly,

"Would you like breakfast?" Rinoa suddenly asked, "Squall made eggs before he left."

Though not at all hungry—in fact, she felt fairly queasy—Aerith nodded.

Arm around her shoulder, Rinoa guided her out of the bedroom and through the living area—small and simple; a couch, a table, and desk with some hangers about it, all filled with the morning light streaming through the window, which caused Aerith to squint—and into the kitchenette; matching oaken cabinetry, a pot-bellied stove for Fira, and a cooler for Blizzara.

In its center was a round table, only four seats—two of which were already set with egg-filled plates and tall glasses of orange juice. A vase with a bouquet of roses sat in the center, bringing a small smile to Aerith's face—Squall was nothing if not polite.

"Where are Cloud and Tifa?" Aerith asked, as she sat down in the chair Rinoa offered.

"We got separated and couldn't find them." Rinoa answered, taking her own seat and a bite of eggs simultaneously, "We all agreed they were old enough to find their way back. Who knows—hopefully they're…" Rinoa trailed off with a suggestive wiggle of her eyebrows.

"Rinoa!" Aerith exclaimed, unable to keep back the snort which Rinoa forced out of her. Perhaps, she hoped, their evening had ended better than hers. That, at least, would make her happy.

As it was, Aerith desperately needed something to have gone well. Those few, stupid words were tearing at her—tempting her, cajoling her, parading every possibility across her mind's eye.

Her mother, alive?

Her mother alive, in the hands of Shinra somehow?

Her mother alive, never having reached out for her?

Her mother alive, and Merlin having lied about it this whole time?

Perhaps most disturbing, though, was the briefly considered possibility that the man was simply lying and Aerith "only" had a creepy stalker who somehow knew the perfect words to get in under her skin and implode her whole world.

Aerith took a long sip of her juice before returning to stare at her eggs. Rinoa didn't prod; nor inquire further. She simply sat in the silence (something she, unlike Zack, was good at), living in that moment with her—just the two of them, the kitchenette, the flowers, and the eggs.

And Aerith was so grateful for that.

It gave her something to hold onto; some normalcy, familiarity. Some patient silence that helped her to hope the best. That same patient kindness that had lulled her to sleep the night before, combing out her hair from how its tight braids, as she hummed over the muffled, fervent discussion between Squall and Zack out beyond the bedroom.

Zack had been hopping angry, she vaguely remembered, ready to fight until he got some answers for who had accosted her and what they knew. He had eventually settled for carrying her, tired feet and wounded heart, all the way back to Squall and Rinoa's from the Bastion.

Squall, before letting Rinoa take over, had only said a few words to her. As Zack was pacing the living space, throwing worried glances her way and muttering to himself, but before Rinoa escorted her tired and cried-out form to the bedroom, Squall had placed his hand on her shoulder and stooped his great height to meet her eye-to-eye.

"We will figure this out, Aerith." He had said solemnly, voice filled with all the confident comfort that Squall's firm exterior could inspire.

Aerith, taking another drink, was quietly grateful for these people who kept her suddenly careening world moored to some rock. The sudden mystery; the hunger to know—it could be worse; as of then, it only ached.

"Aerith—I love you." Rinoa said suddenly, with a serious look across the table.

Before Aerith could respond, though, the front door opened and Squall strode in followed by Merlin, with that light skip in his step that defied his age and beardly appearance. As his heavy eyes fell across the space, Aerith's breath caught in her throat.

Looking back to Rinoa didn't help; she just looked at her expectantly, with sympathy in her eyes. Squall, after closing the door behind them, marched across the room without a word and sat on the couch, one leg crossed over the other.

Merlin, far from oblivious, immediately took to the situation and read Aerith's face like an open book. Confusion clouded his eyes as he moved to stand closer to her.

"Do tell—what is the problem, my dear child?" he asked.

Normally, he would also have patted her hair, or touched her shoulder, or at least stooped closer. Aerith noticed he did none of these things. Had Squall told him anything? She guessed not, knowing Squall. He could've walked in silence all the way there and back and thought nothing of it.

Trying to swallow again, Aerith reached for her juice and took a long sip, trying to think of what to say, as Merlin, in his patience, simply waited. Finally, she opened her mouth,

"Is my mother alive?"

The silence in the room was deafening; like the solitude atop a precipice. Merlin swayed for a moment, his face still knotted in between concern and uncertainty, before his hand reached involuntarily for his beard.

"Why—who told you that?"

Aerith's voice spoke softly, eyes downturned, "Someone…at the party. Someone from Shinra."

A sharp, whistling exhale came through Merlin's old lips, as his face turned deadly pale. Rinoa quickly stood and pulled out a chair, gathering up the dishes in the process.

Aerith's heart broke with his reaction—it was the more confirmation than she had ever wanted. There is was. It was true; or at least, true enough.

And so, the tears began to fall, as Aerith only stared at her lap and folded hands.

"Oh, Aerith…my child…" Merlin murmured, somewhat rocking as he took a slumping seat, "I'm so…so sorry…I can't…please…"

Aerith's blood was running cold now and she could feel the symptoms of panic encroaching upon her. Swallowing, she tried to do what she told her patients: rhythmic breathing through the building tears. In and out. In and out. Deep. Slow. In and out.

"Oh, save us—" Merlin exclaimed, almost to himself, "I knew I should've told you not to go—now he knows, oh, no, no, no…"

"Please." Aerith choked out, "Just tell me what's going on!"

Merlin ceased his murmuring and took a deep sigh, "I…your father was a doctor, just as I told you. But…" Merlin seemed to consciously force himself to overcome years of trained responses, "…he worked for Shinra. I did not tell you that."

Aerith sobbed lightly, just once, as she tried to continue breathing. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. She took note of her pulse and tried to slow it. Suddenly, Rinoa was behind her, hands rubbing her shoulders; a force of peace and rhythm.

"When you were…" Merlin murmured, "…when you were just a toddler, Shinra sent men looking for you father." he frowned, his own chin quivering with the years of a story he had never told to anyone, "I…I tried to stop them. But I…but I…I couldn't…" his old voice broke, as his own tears wet his wrinkled face, "That's how I lost your father. Your mother, Ilfana, she...she moved to protect you…"

Merlin was crying openly now, matching the large droplets that fell to Aerith's own lap. Behind her, she could hear Rinoa sniffling, but her hands kept kneading; keeping her from shaking.

"She…she gave you to me—you were…you were so small…she told me to run and…burn it all as I left…" Merlin whispered, his eyes becoming distant, "And I did…I thought for certain Shinra had…" he trailed off, as he placed his whole face into his bony hands.

Aerith was quiet. Inhale, exhale, breathe. Why did Zack had to leave?

"Why didn't you tell her?" Rinoa asked, her own voice thin and breaking.

"I never heard anything of Ilfana, nor Shinra, ever again." Merlin wept quietly into his hands, "They didn't know who I was; that I had been there. I just wanted to…keep Aerith safe."

"So this could all be true, then?" Squall asked, having come to lean over the half-wall that separated the kitchen and living space. Aerith couldn't tell through her own tears, but she could almost swear Squall's eyes had a slight glisten to them, too.

"I…I don't know." Merlin answered.

Aerith wished, so badly, that he could've just said yes or no. She'd have believed him. Even after keeping all of this secret, she'd have believed him if he just said it! But Merlin giving in, Merlin feeding the unknown—that loosened her ropes all the more. Everything was now possible.

Her mother—her mother!—could be out there. With Shinra? The same people who murdered her father? Why? How? Where? What could she do? Where could she go? Why was it all so terrifyingly open—it felt like she was back on her first date with Zack, wandering through the dense maze of trees in the arboretums—except Zack wasn't there and all the daylight had turned to dark.

And if her mother was really alive, if there was such a past that she had now gotten just a taste of, was she really who she thought she was? If she wasn't Aerith the flower-girl, daughter of Merlin the Wizard, then who was she? Where did she belong?

"I'm so sorry, Aerith, my child…" Merlin spoke quietly, covering his eyes, "I should've done…so much better…"

Suddenly, Aerith needed fresh air more than anything. She felt like she couldn't respire; Rinoa's massage wasn't working anymore and she had lost track of her breathing.

Choking, she jumped to her feet, knocking the chair over, and stumbled out through the living area. Throwing up the nearest window, one of only two small ones, Aerith took in a deep gasp of morning air and sobbed, out over the open streets. She didn't notice if anyone saw her, nor did she care.

As great breaths heaved out of her, Aerith opened her eyes to a Radiant Garden she did not recognize. Certainly, they were the same thatched rooftops and winding streets; the same marbled homes and climbing gardens; the same bubbling streams and Hollow Bastion—but they were utterly unfamiliar to her. All sights and sounds and smells were as if alien—every place strange and uninviting, each one a victim of the great collapse of her wholeness and satisfaction.

Only one place bolstered itself above the rest. Only one place called to her with even a hint of familiarity; the tall, square building that jutted out like a dark wound on the skyline, coiled about in gold letters:

Shinra Defense Corporation.

* * *

Tifa stirred slightly in her sleep, back aching. Twisting over, she wondered why her bed was so hard all of the sudden, and why her pillow was moving. On the edges of her consciousness, some weird tapping (squeaking?) sound came regularly. Had a mouse gotten in somewhere?

Taking a deep breath, she tried to curl back up into sleep, reaching for the blankets she assumed she had kicked off—but her hands found nothing. Wondering idly, half dreaming, Tifa reached up, maybe she had twisted herself upside down, but her hands found themselves touching something that definitely didn't fit.

Slowly blinking, greeted by the late-morning light breaking in around her closed curtains, Tifa realized she wasn't in her bed at all and wondered why—a question which was answered as soon as she looked up to see Cloud, eyes closed and breathing quietly, slouched over her. It was then that she realized her 'pillow' was actually his lap.

Warmth rushed to her cheeks as Tifa reacted quickly, nearly jumping up into the air, as she patted down her wrinkled dress. Cloud startled awake, too, his hand quickly reaching for a sword that was not there; his blue-eyes darting around the room and taking in Tifa with a brief flash of confusion.

But then, Tifa wasn't paying attention to Cloud (or how cute his sleeping face had been), because she remembered the reason why they had been so exhausted as to nearly collapse onto each other:

There, on her small bed across the room by the window, Vincent Valentine lay, his irregular breathing the squeaking she had heard. One arm, twisted unnaturally and burned, lay hanging off the bed, almost as if he was reaching for them. One single eye was open, blood-red, staring at her with a horrible, piercing clarity. The rest of him lay covered, but his patched, dark hair, and his swollen, broken face, was a haunting enough sight to awaken to.

Overcoming her shock, Tifa dashed across the room, nearly tripping over Cloud's legs, to tuck back in his arm and lean in close to his swollen, split lips:

"Waaa…aatttterrrr…" a barely human sound, more exhale than voice, slipped from him.

"Cloud! Get some water!" Tifa said quickly over her shoulder. Cloud nodded, eyes wide at Vincent, as he moved cautiously out of the single room and downstairs to the bar.

"It's okay—it's gonna be okay." Tifa promised, wiping back Vincent's hair from his clammy forehead. When they had made it to the Seventh Heaven—because it was closest to the castle and, in her own words, "no one knows me!"—Cloud had done what little he could with the small Cure magic he was capable of, as Tifa repeated to herself, over and over again, "Think like Aerith, think like Aerith."

She had done her best—scrounging together enough towels and clothes to staunch bleeding, to bandage open wounds, and to clean Vincent as much as possible. She felt like she was failing the whole way, as Vincent hissed and muttered and alternated between conscious states. Soon after he had lapsed out for the third time, in the earliest dark hours, she told Cloud he needed to run to Aerith's and try to find the others.

After his work with Cure, all Cloud had done was check and re-check the perimeters of the Seventh Heaven over and over. Glad to have some mission, he had returned about an hour later with very little luck—besides some of Aerith's medical supplies and his sword, he had only found a drunken Cid, railing about how Shinra had stolen everything from him.

Apparently, Shina had screwed a lot of people over.

Cloud had gone back to Aerith's several times that evening, gathering more supplies, but never found any of the others. At one point, he had almost gotten caught by Zack's Keyblading friend, Ven, who had come anxiously knocking on the door but was answered only with a remarkable string of curses by Cid. Tifa had agreed with Cloud—it had been the right move not to approach him.

They had no idea who they could trust now, and so they passed the night in fearful anxiety, trying to care for Vincent as best they could, until they all gave in to sleep.

Cloud slipped back into the room, quiet as a ghost, and handed her a pitcher of water from the bar. Filling a cup, Tifa brought it to Vincent's dark lips and helped him sip through the groans. After that exertion, he had fallen back to the pillow, unconscious yet again. Biting her lip, Tifa moved to check over his wounds.

"What do you think happened to him?" She shook her head, as she unwrapped a long gash that had been opened down the outside of his arm, letting the muscles bulge and bleed forth.

"Surgical." Cloud noted, face ashen, "They weren't trying to kill him."

"You mean torture?" Tifa gasped.

Cloud nodded, "Or…"

"What?" Tifa prodded, cleaning as best she could. She didn't even want to think about all the other terrible things she had found.

"Experiments." Cloud said simply, with no further explanation.

Tifa nearly threw up in her mouth then and there—experiments?! What the hell kind of world was this?

"Let me try." Cloud said quietly, gently pulling Tifa's hand back and resting his own over the wound. Closing his eyes, he furrowed his brow and focused his energy—Tifa watched a glowing green energy, thin little threads, leak from his fingers and lace around the long split—but it only lasted for a few seconds.

Cloud pulled his hand back, gasping. Perhaps, Tifa thought, the damage looked, maybe, slightly better?

Aw, sh*t. What the hell were they supposed to do? How could they take care of this? Where was everyone? (THIS was why they needed to make the PHS standard issue!). There was a dying man in her bedroom and she couldn't help him!

"Maybe we should try Squall and Rinoa's?" Tifa suggested anxiously, "They should be there, right?"

Cloud responded with something halfway between a nod and a shrug.

"Oh wait, crap, what time is it?" Tifa asked pensively, the light shining around the curtain reminding her that today was a workday—because of course it was.

"Eleven-thirty six." Cloud somehow knew. She wouldn't be surprised if he counted every second of the day.

"Sh*t!" Tifa exclaimed, wrapping a bandage around the first wound, "I have to be downstairs working! If I'm missing, they'll send someone up here or something, then they'll call the PKF and that'll be it—"

"You go. I'll stay." Cloud interrupted, reaching out to take the med-kit from her.

"Okay, okay, right." Tifa swallowed, handing it over. She had no idea how she could just go downstairs and work, though. She was still wearing her party clothes!

"Close your eyes!" She demanded of Cloud, walking past him to the other side of the single room to her only chest. Cloud went from wide-eyed to immediate acquiescence, "and don't turn around, either!"

Cloud nodded, face firmly away from hers. As she changed, Tifa couldn't help but talk—maybe half to him, half to herself.

"Zack freaking lives here, right? He'll have to be back at some point?"

"Right." Cloud nodded, a slight blush to his pale face.

"And you can go check Squall and Rinoa's when I'm on my first break. They've _got_ to be over there."

"Right."

"Meanwhile, I'm just gonna go downstairs and breathe and serve people coffee and sandwiches and pretend like Vincent Valentine isn't dying in my bedroom."

"Right."

"Cloud…" Tifa said quietly, as she buttoned up her shirt, "—hey, you can look now—it's gonna be fine, right?"

Cloud, turning to look at her over his shoulder, could only shake his head, "I don't know."

* * *

Zack kicked dejectedly at a discarded metal cylinder—some kind of pole, perhaps, or a container for some novelty gift purchased in honor of the Princess' birthday. Given a few more hours, all such leftover litter would be efficiently cleared from the streets; the Garden must be kept pristine, after all—even the morning after one of its greatest celebrations.

But for Zack, the party was a distant memory as he wandered his way through the stirring streets, still covered with streamers and balloons and burnt-out firecrackers. It was almost noon, but the streets more resembled early morning. Most everyone, it seemed, had a late night, and he was sure plenty were nursing a hangover.

A combination of these two things ensured that his PKF warrant to return to the Shinra building wasn't coming any time soon—and without that warrant, there was almost no place to start answering his questions; questions that had, as of last night, become staggeringly personal.

Now it was about Aerith.

And then he wanted to kick _himself._

Why had he walked away? Why had he left her, even for a moment? How could he have let some creep sneak up on her and shatter their whole world?

Kicking over another stray party leftover, Zack collapsed on a bench, shifting the Tsurugi strapped to his back, as the sun's rays glanced off its sleek surface. He probably should've stayed instead of trying to rush off and save everything. He should be with her right now. But how could he go back with nothing?

Where else was there to go, though? There was no one at Ven's pseudo-monastery, or at least, no one answered. The Castle wasn't welcoming visitors anymore. Shinra might as well be a brick wall.

A distant bell toll reminded Zack that morning's end was at hand—and that there was still a place he could check. Ven was far too much of a straight-edge to have gotten out of control last night and was just predictable enough that Zack knew where'd he be: a couple blocks away at the Seventh Heaven for lunch.

Zack sighed as he picked himself up. And if Ven wasn't there, he could at least bring something delicious back for Aerith as comfort.

Shinra and Aerith…what could they have to do with each other? She was only a nurse—a stunning, beautiful and excellent nurse, but just a civilian! And what did it have to do with her mother? What hadn't Merlin told her? Zack should've figured the old man was hiding something this whole time.

Walking along, Zack tried to imagine what Aerith was probably feeling right now. Confusion. Insecurity. Anxiety. Ugh! He only succeeded in hating himself more! What had he been thinking!? He just always had to get up and go! Why couldn't he just wait with her? If something like this had happened to him, Aerith would've just sat with him, in her peaceful and anchoring way; breathing for him with that steady calmness—

Ten minutes, Zack decided. He'd wait ten minutes to see if Ven would show. If he did, get right to point and see what he knows—but carefully. If it's another dead end, back to Aerith. In and out. No more than a half-hour.

Nodding affirmatively to himself, Zack passed out from the side street and into the main square the connected the highly residential fifth district and the mom-and-pop shops of the fourth. The square was more like a plaza, set in the shape of a great circle, as if to mimic the entirety of the Garden itself. Its edges were lined with shops, some with vendors only just getting started at this late hour, as the apartments hanging above them were still dark and quiet

As it was across the Garden, a magnificent marble fountain bubbled in its center, watering the great bushes and flowers—Zack twisted his mind in thought, were those lobelias or something?

All were fed by the magnificent underground system of pipes and pumps that moved so much water across the Garden. In the glow of the late morning sunlight, the purple shade of the flowers were pretty catching, reminding him of Aerith as they brought out of the bluer shades of the white marble upon which the city was built.

Always bringing out the best in others.

Ten minutes, Zack reminded himself, as he marched across the plaza, waving his "hello's" to the familiar shopkeepers he saw every morning. Thankfully, Brandt—owner and operator of the small metalwork shop—didn't bring up the tab Zack still owed him. Repairs on the Tsurugi hadn't come cheap!

Reaching about 2-o'clock on the plaza's circle, Zack smirked at the swinging wooden door of the Seventh Heaven. Built into the surrounding shops and apartments, the Seventh Heaven towered just slightly over the rest, with somewhat sloppy additions having been made atop to accommodate more space—now, it resembled more the several layers of one of those fancy tower-looking cakes.

Smoke from the stoves and kitchen within poured steadily from the top, as the smell of breakfast shifting to lunch wafted from the imperfectly-sized door. A somewhat crooked sign hung above the door—"Seventh Heaven" in fanciful scrawl—but Zack was just relieved to see those shoddily-built upper floors, which he sort-of called "home", still standing. That was one good thing about today!

Putting on his best airs, Zack pushed his way through doors, reminding himself to act natural—which wasn't terribly hard, as Zack felt immediately at home with the welcoming tempo of the old-timey music playing from the small bandstand in the corner, with all the regular customers littered at the bar—some having clearly spent the night sleeping there after the evening's festivities.

Zack shared a welcoming nod of understanding with the bartender, Fabul, who shrugged with a knowing sigh as he washed out cups—he'd at least definitely have some good stories to fill up Zack's promised ten-minutes. Maybe Tifa was even working, though he hoped not—that girl needed some time off.

"Hey! Hey, Zack!" came the voice that made Zack realize he had guessed right and wouldn't even be waiting ten seconds.

Looking over across the seedy alcove seating and precious window-views, Zack landed sights on Ven, waving his arms and yelling across the tavern like the kid he still was. Returning the wave, while shrugging apologetically at the perturbed other regulars, Zack slid over to the small, reddish booth that Ven had taken up.

Alright, Zack. Normal.

"Got any food yet?"

Ven shook his head, taking a sip of his drink through a straw.

Zack snorted as he looked it over; definitely a kid, "Right, hello, weirdo chocolate milk-drinker—hey, hey, waiter!" Zack called out to the passing figure—the new kid, Wedge, he thought—"Could I get a cold ale over here?"

Accepted with a nod and the pensive look of vague familiarity, Zack leaned back satisfied. He'd have from now until he finished his ale to find out what Ven knew. Be smooth.

"So how's the promotion?" Ven asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Y'know, being an Investigator is pretty good. Way better than a footsoldier." Zack replied, curious that Ven seemed to be acting like everything was normal; as if their bizzaro conversation about Cloud last night hadn't even happened.

"And we need them, too." Ven affirmed, "Maybe you'll get to the bottom of all this."

"Right-o!" Zack flashed a thumbs-up, trying to figure out if Ven really meant it or didn't seem to realize that he and his old man were a big reason why he currently -wasn't- getting to the bottom of it, "I'll get on it ASAP."

"And how's Aerith?" Ven asked, taking another sip of his milk.

"She's great, as always!" Zack smiled to cover his lie. Why'd Ven seem so mechanical? Something was definitely up. "I'm running out of space to keep all the flowers, though…and before you ask," he added for good measure, "Merlin is as grumpy about me as ever."

Ven chuckled, "Have Squall and Rinoa announced a date yet?"

Now Zack was getting weird vibes. These were, like, pre-planned questions. Like Ven had been expecting to see him here. What was going on?

"You think he'd tell me?" Zack shrugged, "Nah, I'll probably be the last to know. Unless Rinoa tells Aerith."

"And what about Cloud and Tifa?" Ven asked, over another long sip.

"What's with the interrogation, Ven?" Zack faked a chuckle, trying to cover the discomfort and figure out how to get this back to -him- being the investigator. Why'd he feel like he was being put on the run by such innocuous questions? Was Ven now referencing their last conversation? "Y'know, we're still worried about him. He has his good and bad days. Tifa's taking care of him, though…" Zack paused, trying to walk the line between defending Cloud and not giving up too much to whatever Ven was trying to get at, "I wish he'd talk more—but he's only a kid, really, so we'll see."

Ven nodded, his gaze turning down to his drink, "Aren't we all just kids, too?"

Zack snorted, covering a confused frown. What was taking that new server so long to get an ale? "Hey, yeah, I guess. Squall's the only man around here."

"What about Merlin?" Ven looked up with a slight smirk, a moment of familiar normalcy returning to their banter.

"It'd be unfair to count him; he's old as dirt, he'd throw off all the averages." Zack responded, falling into the old jokes they'd make when he and Aerith were just starting out and Merlin would still chase him out of the house with Fire spells.

"And how's Vincent's work?" Ven asked, as their laughter subsided.

Zack, still in the old mode, almost responded instinctually—before catching himself. Ven had returned to that mechanical questioning. Why? Was this what this was about? Had Ven been actually waiting here to interrogate him? Had they really been planning to scoop each other?

Well, Ven old friend, Zack thought, you'd have to be smoother than that.

"Hey! Did you think you could just slip that in with all those other questions and I wouldn't notice?" he asked, trying to keep the tone light; best to confront it directly, "I'm smarter than that. I know you're looking in Shinra—I've told you everything I know!"

Ven sighed and leaned back with a grin, allowing his straw to spin about freely in his almost-empty cup, "What can I say? I'm bad at espionage. You got me."

"Well, try harder next time, eh?" A slight wave of relief flooded through Zack as some of the tension was defused. Ven was still acting weird, but at least he knew something of the reason why. The new waiter had also dropped off his ale—Zack de-tensed. Now his countdown could begin—since Ven had opened the issue, time to push back. "Besides, enough about me—what's with all your secret stuff? What's the Master got Aqua and Terra up to?"

"Exchange secrets?" Ven offered.

"Fine, fine…" Zack waved his agreement—time to test.

"Well, dad put Terra on Shinra instead of me and he's making some plans with the Lord Protector about something I don't even know about." Ven shrugged, "Not that I mind—I'm pretty sure Aqua knows about it, though."

"Of course." Zack nodded—that seemed like the kind of person his older sister was.

"Yup!" Ven responded, slurping down the rest of his drink, "And if she knows, then I know I don't have to worry."

"Mhmmm…" Zack answered, taking a long swig of his cold brew, giving him a second to think. That was a whole list of ambiguity, and now Ven would expect—

"Your turn." Ven gestured.

"Eh?" Zack replied, still gulping down his drink. Maybe it would be better just to get back to Aerith ASAP.

"Secrets, remember?" Ven prodded, with a smile that made Zack wonder if his mechanical investigation had really passed. What was Ven looking for?

"Oh, right, yeah…" Zack slowly put his mug down, considering some things Squall had mentioned, "Well, I've heard whispers from the higher-ups that we might be making some big move against Wutai—"

It was then that the first explosions went off—a roaring quake, like being too close to Merlin's fireworks—and everything was dust and flying stone; knives of wood and a long, brain-numbing ringing that welcomed oblivion.


	13. The Reichstag Fire

_So I thought KH3 was…alright. Gameplay was awesome, story/characters were way better than I expected—until the last 3-4ish hours. Things kinda went off the rail there, in a way that was both spectacular, fascinating, and horrible—though in a love/hate sort of way. Maybe next chapter I'll add a spoilerly addendum on how I think it could've gone better._

* * *

 _ **Chapter XIII: The Reichstag Fire  
**_ _And the walls kept tumbling down,  
in the city that we love;  
great clouds roll over the hills,  
bringing darkness from above—  
but if you close your eyes,  
does it almost feel like nothing's changed at all?  
~Pompeii by Bastille_

Zack opened his eyes, never realizing he had closed them, and wondering who had turned on—no, who had put up—so many lights in the Seventh Heaven? And why had they made such a mess doing it? What was—oh, and why did his head hurt so much? And why was he halfway under a table? The ale wasn't that strong, right—

But then Zack realized the light was actually the sun, shining murkily through floating debris, which in turn obscured the fact that the front half of the Seventh Heaven was missing, now all warped and piled stones with half-shorn boards sticking out at odd angles.

He blinked again, wiping at the ache coming from his right temple. His fingers returned blood.

Groaning and trying to unscramble his vision, the eternal ringing in Zack's ear was punctuated with another distant rocking—like a single, deep bass note, with something else mixed in.

Nearly cutting himself on the shards of the wooden table, Zack raised himself to stare with a daze around the tavern. Smoke was rising from a fire that had already caught on the far side of the bar, though it could be hardly recognized as such, ripped apart as it was.

There were forms he didn't recognize, shapes, like scattered pieces, laying around it. The ceiling above seemed almost to sag, as it eventually just vanished into ragged remains near the front of the eatery—like a piece of cloth lazily torn in half.

The ringing was less now, and Zack was still wiping blood from his forehead. Beneath him, whatever he had been leaning on cracked and collapsed, sending him tumbling down into a ragged pile of wood and fabric. It was then that the ringing was overtaken totally by another note, multiple notes, all crazed and irregular—

Screams, he realized. They were screams.

Then and there the shock wore off and suddenly Zack was fully in the moment. Leaking blood, smoking debris, dust-filled air that choked his lungs and made him hack, and those screams that shifted in and out with closer moans—Ven!

Zack stumbled forward, shoving aside the remains of their table, ignoring how they cut his hands in the process. Groaning underneath it was Ven, hair singed and face smudged.

Zack stooped down and took him by the shoulders, checked his pulse, and gently shook him.

"Ven, Ven, hey!"

"W-what…what—" Ven mumbled, eyes opening slightly.

"I don't—" Zack hacked, wiping again at his head, "I don't know, some kind of attack or—"

"Deepground…" Ven murmured, as Zack came to the exact same conclusion. Terrorists. This was an attack.

The screaming was becoming ever more acute, and the fumes ever more noxious. Seeing Ven able to sit up unwounded, Zack, unable now to bring himself to look at the bar, tasked him, "We gotta get whoever's left out of here."

Ven, still stunned, nodded, dragging himself to his feet. Somewhere close by, another explosion rocked the building, causing more dust and debris to fall from the ceiling. Zack, acting on instinct, turned and stumbled through what used to the be the entrance to the Seventh Heaven.

The attack was still happening, and whoever was doing this was still here and needed to be stopped.

And he was going to stop them.

But as he stumbled out into the open, shielding himself from the swell of the fires, Zack found himself staring at an image of total devastation. The plaza was burning—that is, what was left of it.

Instead of apartments, piles of rubble lay collapsed like avalanches. Smoke filled the air, as people ran screaming through it, dodging falling debris and further ruin. Bodies lay openly in the plaza, fallen over the flower and half-hanging from the bushes. The fountain hissed sheets of water in a futile spray, as it lay half-crumbled.

It took Zack a moment to breathe it in—the burning air, the acrid smell, the smoke that turned the sun's rays into a blinding diffusion, making the entire plaza to appear trapped in a hazy mist, lit by the shimmering torches of what had only just been beautiful greenery.

But it was only for a moment. Then Zack leapt into action.

The body closest to him—collapsed over the blackened stone wall between buildings, was burned and scarred beyond recognition. Zack swallowed over a forming knot as he gently lowered them to the ground and dashed a few yards further down the plaza, crouched as low below the smoke as he could, where one of the explosion had brought down the front of an apartment house; melted like the wax of a candle.

Following half-glimpsed sights and half-heard sounds, Zack pushed stones aside, hacking through the burning air, and pulled out a young woman, legs broken and twisted beneath, but breathing—mumbling, even. Light-brown hair was matted to her forehead, and her clothes were in tatters. Lifting her light frame into his arms, Zack tried to pierce the smoke with his gaze, looking for the safest place—but he didn't recognize even his own home. Everything was so disfigured—

Suddenly another explosion ripped through another nearby complex, bursting it from the inside out. Zack stumbled back, nearly dropping the moaning woman, able only just to turn instead to shield her. The raging fires had begun to spread, the smoke was deepening, and the screaming cries kept shafting through the fog. Shadowy forms moved through it, as Zack hung back, shifting along the edges of the plaza.

Nearly tripping over another lifeless body, he felt an uncontrollable panic finally begin to hit him. What the hell was this? What was going on?!

He had to breathe. Breathe! Breathe! But breathing became only long, drawn-out coughing fits, as his lungs filled with smoke. Looking up, Zack found himself staring back at the half-scooped out space where the Seventh Heaven had been.

But, he noticed, it was no longer on fire. Hopefully Ven's work. It would have to do.

Stumbling up the twisted metal and wooden beams that lay strewn where stairs had once been, Zack found a somewhat clear bench to lay the young woman down. Setting her legs as best he could and wiping the pooling blood from the side of his face, he turned and tripped, falling to his hands and knees. He had to get as many as he could—the PKF would be here, soon; the healers. He had to get a perimeter set and a base established, he had to—

"Oh, dar-ling, compassion is such a precious zing to squander—" a sultry voice crooned, "and zis city has so little of it to spare."

A swift kick to the gut sent Zack tumbling over his side. Groaning and coughing, he looked up to see a tall woman, fully-armored and draped in a red fur coat. Her tangled red hair fell back from a peak to several long spikes, as deep-red eyes looked disdainfully down a sharp nose at him.

"Speaking of precious zings to squander…such a shame." She frowned, "Rosso ze Crimson will grant you a quick death."

As she raised a double bladed sword, held by a hilt in its middle, Zack scrambled to pull the Tsurugi from underneath him, his brain absently wondered if he'd just be remembered as a statistic—one among dozens, if not hundreds, killed in this attack.

But as the blade came down, a flashing form leaped from the remains of the Seventh Heaven and battered the Tsviet's long blade away. Suddenly, between he and the woman, this Rosso, stood Ven, stance low and his Keyblade swung behind him in the reverse hold that he had always preferred, much to Zack's confusion.

"Miss, please put that down." Ven said, with a mix of firmness and mischievousness that only he could achieve.

"Oh, but you are only a boy." Rosso chided, an amused smile tugging at her lips, "I am more zan enough for ze both of you."

Suddenly, through the fog and dust and heat, four PKF soldiers circled around, dressed smartly in their armor and wielding their standard-issue blades. Zack could sense their fear and doubt, though—they must've only been a nearby patrol.

"How about now?" Zack replied, feeling his blood boil as it fully clicked that this woman was one of _them._

Rosso, without a care in the world, carelessly examined those surrounding her, "I'm quite experienced."

With that, she plunged her blade into the neatly-laid stones beneath her and, from that center, waves of fire erupted concentrically, breaking upward through the brick.

In a second's reaction, Ven created a reflect spell that protected him, Zack and two soldiers within its span, but the other two were immediately consumed with flames from their feet-up and collapsed in writhing piles of blackened flesh and burning screams.

Zack's blood ran simultaneously cold and hot and Ven's spell fluttered under the pressure—this was no ordinary magic she was using. There was something crazier going on.

As Ven's spell faded, both moved to charge forward, blades flashing—but as Rosso deflected their first strikes, two sudden thuds from behind drew Zack's attention back. Spinning away from her with her second deflect, Zack watched as the bodies of the two remaining PKF soldiers were thrown to the side like ragdolls, beaten away as if by a bat.

The sickening crunch of their bones and their final muted screams burned Zack's memory just as, through the fog, a towering monster of a man emerged, wielding an enormous weapon. Zack almost wanted to call it a "gun", but it didn't resemble any sort of handheld available in the Garden.

No, this was more like a handheld _cannon,_ which this giant held and swung around like a mace in his gigantic hands.

At least nine feet tall, this new terrorist had long silver hair, matted around his square face. Nearly-glowing yellow eyes stared fiercely at them from above a broad, wild smile. A silver jumpsuit wrapped around muscles bigger than Zack's head, and arms thicker than his torso. Behind him, a tattered silver cape floated.

"Excellent timing, Azul." Rosso praised, as Zack turned back to back with Ven to face these respective opponents.

"Our time, when it has come, is always an excellent time, Crimson." Azul responded with a rumble, in a tone that bordered on the exultant.

"Alright, look," Zack tried to smirk, "If you both just surrender now, me and my buddy here will try and make sure you get the lock-up and -not- execution."

"Ah, a comedian." Azul murmured, as he angled the thick barrel of his cannon.

"Nah, if I was—" Zack shrugged, tightening his fingers around the Tsurugi's handle, "-I'd have come up with something way more clever about your freakish size by now."

"Zack, stop antagonizing them—" Ven anxiously whispered.

"Your friend's advice is wise, I suggest you take it." Zack glanced over his shoulder to see three (three!) more figures appear to melt out of the burning, roaring, opaque chaos, from which he could still hear the screams.

The speaker continued, "For we have suffered our fair share of antagonism."

The first, the one who spoke, wore nothing but the simple white gi bottoms of a martial artist, revealing a well-defined torso. Two long pistol-blades—not unlike the gunblades that Squall and Rinoa wielded—were strapped across his back. His hair was completely white, and flew out from his head, almost like the unfolded wings of a peacock. A single, sharp blue eye stared at Zack and Ven, piercing through the dust and debris like a laser.

Beside him, nearly hanging upon his arm, marched a man wrapped all in black—indeed, really _wrapped,_ as even his arms appeared to be twisted into his garments—almost restrained. Disheveled black hair struck out from all about, around a metal mask that seemed attached over his whole head, allowing only his feline-like eyes to stare out. Behind him, a pair of metal wings—ugly and sharp—stretched out, seeming to twist and move and jab on their own.

Lastly, to the white-haired man's left, stood a man dressed, it seemed, all in rags draped over a dangerously thin body—but he was covered over by a long, red coat with black armor attached to the shoulders. He held a single longsword and his untrimmed auburn hair fell all about his face, obscuring most of his appearance.

Zack counted again. Five of them. Two of him. Not great odds, but he'd be damned if he gave up now.

He just wished he had gone back to see Aerith first, before coming to meet this moment.

"It is not as though wisdom shall save you." the white-haired man added, rejecting any parlay, "The time for the Garden's wisdom has long passed. Azul?"

Zack, readying his blade, turned back to the giant, who was raising his large cannon. Zack twisted his stance, about to leap forward, when suddenly, glowing orange chains flew from nowhere, wrapping themselves around the cannon's barrel and pulling it back with a jerk.

With that, its first sudden blast flew up and high, exploding into one of the nearby buildings and causing rubble to rain from the air. Following the shimmering, magical chains back, Zack saw another figure emerge, to Ven's cheers: his father, Eraqus, tugging back on the energized manacles that emerged from the tip of his Keyblade.

Simultaneously, Ven's sister Aqua appeared from nowhere, her dark-blue Keyblade crossing the throat of Rosso the Crimson, across from Ven. The whole scene froze then, for a moment. The nine of them, in a sort of miniature standoff, as the plaza burned and collapsed around them.

And Zack suddenly felt a lot better about their odds.

"I, Eraqus, Master of Keyblade, demand you identify and explain yourselves, creatures of darkness!" Ven's father insisted, as he kept the giant Azul controlled like a dog on a leash.

"I wish to do the same." The white-haired man, eye shifting between Rosso at sword-point and Azul under duress, spoke slowly, "These two are Rosso the Crimson and Azul the Cerulean. To my right: Nero the Sable; to my left, our new brother, Genesis Rhapsodos,"

Finally bringing his hand to rest upon his own chest, he continued, "And I am Weiss the Immaculate. Together," he gestured broadly, "we Tsviets are Deepground, here to bring justice and healing to the rot that corrupts Radiant Garden."

"By wanton death and destruction? An odd sort of healing." Aqua replied, her solemn face not betraying even a hint of emotion.

"Consider it surgery, then." Weiss responded, unfazed, "The Garden has done nothing else than bring its own evil back on its own head."

"You may veil your darkness in trappings of light," Eraqus boomed, letting his shimmering shackles slack, "But you are shadowed monsters, all the same!"

With that, willing to hear no more, Eraqus reared back with his Keyblade, and tore the enormous cannon from the grasp of Azul, sending it flying through the air at Weiss and his two fellows.

All at once, everyone began to move.

Rosso flipped her double-sword up, knocking back Aqua's weapon and turning to face her directly. Ven immediately leapt forward, swinging downward as Aqua gracefully spun away from Rosso's first twisting jab. Eraqus, moving faster than Zack could follow, charged toward the group of three, calling beams of light that seemed to erupt from the air itself to light upon Genesis, while aiming his first swing toward Weiss—seemingly the leader.

Before any blows could land, though, the twisting metal arms of Nero came down with jabbing strikes at Eraqus, forcing him to twist and turn to dodge, slowing his advance. Meanwhile, Weiss slowly drew his twin blades from his back and stepped calmly out of the way of Azul's careening weapon.

Meanwhile, Zack leapt into action himself, swinging down at the now weaponless Azul. But weaponless, Zack learned, did not mean defenseless: the giant of a man caught Zack's blade in one hand—and though blood leaked through his fist, he did not lose his fingers.

Zack's eyes widened—the Tsurugi could cut through metal! How could this guy's hand stop it? Azul toothy smile widened, his eyes bright, as he held Zack still by his sword and reached for him with his enormous other hand. Moving quickly, Zack used that control against him—leveraging his weight to jump against Azul's tightened fist and twist his blade out, severing the tip of a finger as he did.

With a twisted landing, as Azul roared and pulled back, Zack swung low at his trunk-like legs—but succeeded only in the tip of the Tsurugi embedding itself slightly in his calf. With a shake of the leg, Azul sent Zack tumbling along the ground, knocked free from his blade.

Behind Zack, the chanted explosions of magic and the clanging of Keyblade and sword told him they were in trouble enough—just as Azul came to tower over him again.

* * *

Tifa snapped awake with a muffled cry, wiping at the drops of water that fell on her cheeks and mixed with blood. In her wakening confusion, she wondered first how she had ended up on the floor and, second, whether the pipes had burst again and started leaking through the ceiling.

But then she smelled the burning wood and heard the crackling fires, punctuated by some voice calling out Blizzard spells. After each command, the whistling sizzle of released steam hissed around the Seventh Heaven.

Lifting herself, Tifa looked around in a daze. Stools and booths were overturned or half-missing, collapsed in smoldering scrap piles. Food and drink was everywhere and, she could swear, it seemed a bit lighter than it should've; but a whole hell've of a lot of smoke made that difficult to discern. Either way, this mess—someone was gonna have to pay for this mess-

Blinking, she leaned back up against the bar, at the point where it turned the corner away from the main entrance and wrapped behind several booths. What had happened? Why was she on the floor?

She had been late. Fabul had covered for her. She had been gathering the orders together and refilling a few drinks when she…when Zack suddenly waltzed down to sit somewhere. Her heart had skipped a beat, both excited and fearful…how was she going to explain what had happened? That Vincent was dying upstairs?

She had…she had finished filling the last beer and decided to make for Zack, as he'd know what to do—but then she saw who was sitting with him: one of those Keybladers. What was she supposed to do, now? Sure, they'd saved them in the castle, but—the way the woman with them had looked at Cloud—

"Blizzara!" came another spell, as a blast of ice magic flew through the air above her, crashing into the several steps of wood that had once been the whiskey display. The fire burning there, which Tifa only just noticed, quickly succumbed to the ice. Following the trajectory, she just caught sight of an upswing of short spikes of blonde hair, unalike to Cloud's long spikes, dashing down to the other end of the bar. The Keyblader?

Quite unsure of why, Tifa scampered behind the bar, hiding below what was—what was left of it? Why was she hiding from him? What was going on?

Tifa looked down at her arm, which for the first time she noticed had a gash from hand to elbow, down the top of it—bleeding. What the hell?

It was then that the pain kicked in, burning and raging up her arm, and it took biting her other hand—itself scraped and darkened with dirt—to not yelp. What was it that Master Zangan had always said? Pain is weakness leaving the body? Alright, it was alright—she'd had worse.

Taking a breath, with just a slight shake, Tifa looked up to find something behind the bar to wrap herself up in—a cloth or rag or something—but instead had to immediately suppress another cry, as her eyes fell upon Fabul's mangled body, crushed under part of the bar, with a single dagger-like splinter of it driven through his light green eye.

Tifa stared in shock, blood and dirt and bar forgotten. What the hell had happened?

Suddenly, distant screaming came to reach her ears, and maybe some kind of metallic crash.

And then Tifa's mind connected it all—burning, fire, blood, death: the terrorists.

No, no, no.

No, no, no, no, no.

Her breathing quickened, and Tifa tried to hold it in pace, but the sound and shaking of a nearby explosion—definitely out in the plaza—stole it from her and she whimpered, much to Zangan's imagined disappointment.

Cloud. She had to get back to Cloud and Vincent. She had to get them.

Lacking any kind of useful cloth, Tifa gently dabbed her wound with the edges of her jacket. Leaning on her good arm, she crawled forward under the bar toward the back stairs, freezing only as she passed Fabul, taking a moment to close his eye. She couldn't bear to rip out the wound to the other.

Through gritted teeth, she made it to the stairwell and, with a quick look over the tavern to see where Ventus had gone—but she only gained more sorrow and fear for her trouble, as she finally saw that the whole front of the building was gone, where bodies lay slumped or impaled.

Taking hold of the bannister with her good arm, she pulled herself back up the stairs to the apartments above. Each step was accompanied by the discovery of a new bruise, a new pain, but Tifa breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth in a steady pattern that matched her movement. Lift up, breathe in. Foot down, breathe out. Keep her heart paced. Keep her mind clear. Just like she'd been taught.

Rounding the last corner into the first hall, Tifa nearly tripped and fell as the bannister ended—but she found the wall to support her first and was able to stand straight, leaning only now against it to steady herself. As another explosion boomed in the distance, she staggered to the first door, hers, and almost punched it down with how hard she pushed through it.

There, on the floor, Cloud lay on his stomach, Vincent before him, almost as if he had rolled from Cloud's arms. Behind them, the edge of the room with her beloved window that looked out over the plaza was simply gone; the bed lay half-slipped through the floor and the wall was a crumbled, mostly-absent, mess.

Stumbling to her knees, gripping her wounded arm close, Tifa checked Vincent's pulse—still alive, though she knew he had no right to be. As soon as she touched Cloud, though, he bolted awake and snatched her wrist.

"Sorry, I—" he started to respond, as his eyes focused on hers.

"What happened-?!" they both simultaneously exclaimed.

"I was—" Cloud's eyes darted down to her arm, and he stumbled past her and began shoveling through the kit he had taken from Aerith, "Something was about to happen. I grabbed Vincent" he turned back with a roll of gauze and tossed to her, before rushing over to Vincent to check for himself, "—then, then—"

"It's like a terrorist attack." Tifa responded, catching the roll. She spoke as she wrapped her arm with her teeth, "Cloud, it's bad—it's like, it's really bad. Hey—maybe you shouldn't—"

Tifa tried to stop him, but Cloud had already carefully moved to the damaged side of the room, looking through the smoke and debris as if it were still a window he could clearly see through.

"Something's happening out there. A fight, maybe." His eyes scanned back and forth, almost robotic, before his voice dropped low and he ran past Tifa to the door, "Aerith. Aerith's out there."

Tifa nodded, following his eyes down to Vincent unmoving form, "Then let's go,"

Cutting off the last of the gauze at her elbow, she snatched up the kit, along with her favorite gloves and wide-brimmed hat from the nearby bureau, hissing as her arm brushed its edge.

Tifa gave the room one final sweep—a picture tacked on the wall got torn down and tossed in the kit, along with that precious small stone from Mt. Nibel.

She frowned, sighing as she slung the kit over her shoulder. She'd never particularly liked this room, but it was home. She'd made it hers.

Agh, what a stupid time to think about stuff like that!

Pushing down the emotions—the shock, the fear, the death (and one final, bittersweet glance at the party dress still hung in the corner), Tifa stooped to reach for Vincent.

"Let's get him out of this death-trap."

* * *

Aerith's eyes burned as she stumbled into the plaza, with Squall, Rinoa, and Merlin pulling up behind her. The explosions had drawn them all here—even from as far as they were, Rinoa and Squall's apartment building had still been shaken.

The streets had been filled with people, rushing from the fourth district. They had been kept, it seemed, from retreating higher into the six and seventh districts, which wrapped highest around the Garden, and were now swarming in fear down into the second and third. PKF soldiers had already begun to cordon off the entire district—only by Rinoa's badge had they gotten through.

"What the hell happened here?" Rinoa exclaimed, gunblade in one hand, furiously clicking away at her PHS with the other, while checking on any of the hacking, soot-covered victims who stumbled by them and into freedom.

Aerith tried to see through to the other side—the Seventh Heaven was in there somewhere, she knew. That meant Cloud and Tifa could be there. Or Zack.

She felt sick—they could be in the middle of this!

Screams rent the fog, mixing with the licking flames and the crashing of crumbling buildings to create the most horrific chorus Aerith had ever heard.

"Terrorists." Squall said simply, his sharp eyes trying to pierce the incredible smoke that covered the plaza, pouring from buildings and rubble and just about everything: houses, shops, flowers—Aerith gasped—people!

From the first house to the right, half collapsed on its side (blown apart by some kind of explosion?), a shaking figure, himself half burnt, stumbled down its stone steps and collapsed. Knowing she had to focus, Aerith rolled up her sleeves and ran for him—focusing on him alone. That's what she had to do. That was all she could do.

Suddenly, though, Rinoa was beside her (Aerith only briefly wondered how she had moved that fast), and pushing her low to the ground. Around them, after Rinoa's chant, the golden honeycomb of a reflect shield formed and, no sooner than Rinoa finished speaking, another explosion blew the small shop across from them to smithereens.

When the explosion cleared, the place where the man had fallen was covered in rubble. The entire house was gone. Aerith felt all the breath leave her, as Rinoa pulled her to her feet,

"I'm…sorry. We couldn't reach him." She murmured.

Aerith shook her head, eyes burning now from smoke and tears and fear and all the emotion built up in her. "What do we do, Rinoa?"

"It's this damn smoke," Her face serious and solemn, "We can't see anything. Merlin!" she turned, still able to see the other two through the creeping, debris-filled air. "How much Aero magic could you conjure?

Merlin frowned, "Wind would only feed the fire, I'm afraid. But I shall turn to as much ice magic as I can muster until help arrives!"

Rinoa nodded, turning to Aerith as Merlin rolled up his long, baggy sleeves and turned to casting, "If we can all work together, we can get this under contr—"

Suddenly, a shot from Squall's gunblade whistled past them and deflected against something behind. Rinoa whipped about immediately with her own blade close, blocking a swing, just in time, from a red longsword that had emerged from the fog.

Immediately, Squall was by her side and Rinoa stepped between Aerith and the new attacker. Attached to sword's hilt was a man of indeterminable age, with uneven and disheveled auburn hair that obscured his face. He wore a long red coat, covering a shirt and slacks made, it seemed, almost entirely of rags.

"My friends, the fates are cruel," the man murmured, eyes seemingly cast down, even as he held Rinoa's blade in a clash with his own, "There are no dreams, no honor remains…the arrow has left the bow of the goddess."

"It's bad manners to introduce yourself with riddles." Rinoa challenged.

Squall grunted, swinging forward with his own blade, "Even worse with attempted murder."

With a flick of the wrist, the man spun Rinoa's blade out of the way and fended off Squall's first attack. Following up behind, Rinoa took another careful swing—but with a step to the side and low parry, her strike was disarmed.

"Who are you? What do you want?" Squall challenged, circling in parallel with Rinoa around him. The smoke near them had begun to clear, slightly—Merlin must have been doing his best work.

"I am a shattered soul; a sacrifice of the goddess for the heart of this Garden." The man answered, "What I do today shall be spoken of forever. This day begins the Garden's rebirth."

"Shut up!" Aerith suddenly found herself saying.

"Aerith!" Rinoa shouted to her, "Stay back! Stay with Merlin!"

"There's no excuse for this—no good for _this!"_ Aerith gestured angrily at the smoke-filled air, the unknown bodies, the demolished buildings. "If you did this, well, that makes you nothing else than a monster!"

"You…" the man's head turned slightly up, so that one of his blue eyes glowed in the fog, "But you're different. You don't need rebirth, because you don't belong. You are beloved of the goddess."

Aerith froze, not knowing how to respond. The world was burning around her, people were dying, and here she was suddenly having another insane conversation with a madman.

"Enough," Squall announced, leaping forward with another swing. Rinoa, never apart from him, followed suite, both falling upon the man. With a spinning parry, he knocked Squall's blow back and followed with an uppercut to refuse Rinoa. His eyes remained on Aerith.

"I recognize you—or, should I say, who you come from." Aerith's heartbeat slowed, "I've seen your face in another's. She, like I, was stripped away by the Garden, beneath Shinra."

Aerith blinked. Her mother. The first explosion had banished those horrors from her mind—but, somehow, impossibly, they had also now drawn her back into them.

"Squall!" Rinoa exclaimed.

Nodding, Squall charged forward.

"Do not stay where you do not belong." The man, eye still glowing, murmured—before Squall made contact again with a flurry of blows. Suddenly, Rinoa's face was in Aerith's; her brown eyes staring into her with concern and love.

"Aerith, we'll figure all this out—but you need to be safe. There are—there are people—" she touched her cheek, "People who need your help. Go with Merlin. Let Squall and I handle this knockoff poet."

Aerith blinked, drawn back into the smoking, burning, screaming moment.

"Go!" Rinoa urged, turning to back up Squall without waiting for a response.

Aerith took only another moment to watch, in lingering fear, as her best friend swung back into the fray, absently wondering how was this one terrorist was able to hold off both Rinoa and Squall?

But pushing that aside, Aerith turned after Merlin, who was working his way along the edges of the plaza—expertly casting blizzard spells, putting out fire after fire. Without a word shared, she joined alongside him—though her expertise was in Cure magic, it wasn't as though she could've been raised by a wizard and _not_ have a well-rounded education.

The clash of the fires and blizzard magic causes eruptions of steam so furious that both Merlin and Aerith were soon soaked, causing the smoke and debris to stick to them in a heavy sheen of muck on their faces, clothes, hair—Merlin's beard was a singed, tattered mess and Aerith had long ceased to care about her collapsing bun. Burnt fingers, dark grey arms, soot burning the lungs—but there were more important things now.

But Aerith tried, every chance she got, to see what had happened to Squall, Rinoa and that mysterious terrorist—but she had lost them in the confusion and remaining smoke. Every moment, sounds of fighting, grunting and gasping, summoned magic, fired gunblades, and the clanging of swords, rang through the blanketed plaza behind her.

Meanwhile, as she and Merlin cleared the smoke and fought the fires, they found person after person, crouched hiding under a stoop or in small alleys. Aerith would give them a quick once-over, whatever encouraging word she could muster up to match the smile that broke through what she imagined was a pretty terrible looking face, and sent them out by the way they had cleared. Like her, they were in shock—mumbling to themselves, screaming, crying, or, worst of all, making no reaction whatsoever.

Just as Aerith had finished checking over one like that—a young woman with a blank look; eyes distant and mouth slack—a voice suddenly spoke to her from above.

"That will be quite enough."

Looking up to the caved-in roof above her, Aerith gasped to see a man standing there; perched impossibly on the edge where the roof, now twisted and bent, curled over the edge of the wall. His dark hair ruffled slightly in the shifting winds of the surrounding fires, though it was mostly restricted by the metal headpiece he wore that completely obscured all but his eyes. Two great metal extensions, like some beastly invention of Cid's, stretched out from the back of his dark jumpsuit; great wings of a bird of prey.

Pushing the woman behind her, Aerith wiped the grime from her face and stared up at this new man—undoubtedly another of the terrorists, just like the first.

"It's never enough." She said simply and pointedly, exhaustion evident in her voice, she was sure. Breathless and coughing, there was not much to give.

"Weiss calls it enough." The man responded, eerily muffled by his hidden mouth, "Therefore, it is."

Like a bat, he leapt from the roof to fall upon Aerith.

But suddenly, Cloud was between the two of them, catching the sharp talons with his broad sword. Before anyone could react, Tifa was there, too, grabbing the man—though Aerith felt he barely deserved "man", rather, "monster"—by the leg and, with a grunting spin, pulled him from the air and threw him through the next shop down, collapsing its entryway upon him.

"Cloud! Tifa!" Aerith exclaimed, as she shuffled the unresponsive woman along. "You're okay!"

Cloud only nodded, keeping his eyes on the still-settling rubble. Tifa, however, stumbled forward into Aerith's arms, "Mostly!"

Aerith immediately pulled back, shocked by the number of lacerations and bruises across Tifa's face and legs—her arm, evidenced by the blood seeping through some hasty binding, was pretty terribly wounded—but before she could insist to see it, Tifa spoke:

"Quick, Aerith, Vincent really needs you!"

* * *

After the first explosion, Terra had ceased reading. After the second and third, he had rushed to the window to see the smoke rising from somewhere around the fourth or fifth district—right where Ven, Aqua and the Master had gone.

He had to squash the immediate urge to leave—after all, the Master had left strict orders and Lucretia was still here, sitting fearfully in the chair by the other window, seeing everything he was. He had to protect her.

But by the eighth explosion, Terra was sweating and pacing and Lucretia was crying. What the hell was he supposed to do? Clearly, something had gone terribly, terribly wrong—had Shinra felt threatened and done something extreme? Was it terrorism? Maybe he was overreacting—the Master had said he, especially, had to be careful of that—maybe it was only some kind of terrible accident.

"Would Shinra do something like this?" he spoke to Lucretia for the first time since the others had left. He tried to leave any harshness from his tone, but he felt like that had probably failed—the urgency was too great.

Lucretia, after a moment of thought, tearfully shook her head, "No. No, I don't think even they'd be so brazen….it's not even near Shinra."

Terra nodded. She was right. He knew it. He felt it. This was something more. This was what they all feared.

"It's the terrorists, then." He said solemnly and finally.

Lucretia only turned back to window. He was sure she had guessed that long ago.

So what was he supposed to do now? They hadn't planned on this when the Master had told him to keep Lucretia safe. If Deepground was down there, then Aqua and Ven would need his help! But he certainly couldn't leave her here—not when Shinra knows she left with him.

Damnit, there were no good options. Either way, he'd suffer in not knowing. Stay here and let his siblings fight and possibly die, or disobey the Master and go, trying to keep Lucretia safe.

"You—we—should go." Lucretia interrupted his thoughts.

Terra only nodded in response.

That was it, then, he decided. Returning to the window, he looked once more at the plume of smoke that now rose from the district below, forming a somber cloud that wrapped itself around the mid-level of the Bastion. More lives would be saved in his going than his staying. He could protect Lucretia _and_ help his siblings—

The distinctive sound of shattering glass, followed by a quiet thud, interrupted his thoughts. The world seemed to slow as Terra turned to see Lucretia slump over and fall from where she had been sitting, a trickle of blood dripping down a single hole in her pale forehead.

With all the speed he could muster, Terra turned to summon the Keyblade and deflect a shot meant for him just as it cracked through the windowpane—but he caught it just slightly too late, succeeding only in deflecting the mix of magic and metal into his shoulder.

Stumbling back with a groan, Terra crashed through a stack of books and overturned an armchair in his collapse. As the great oaken door began to creak open, Terra re-summoned the Keyblade to his good arm and, calling upon his best magical ability, cast out a Blizzara spell that flew true—freezing the frame of the door in place.

A light cure spell numbed the pain in his shoulder, just in time to roll out of the way from another shot that flew from a shadow outside the already cracked window, over the unmoving body of Lucretia.

Taking another breath, Terra twisted the Keyblade and called out again for Blizzara, formed at the tip of the Keyblade into great, icy spikes, which he sent flying back through the window, totally shattering the whole pane into wicked shards.

A scream of pain from outside commended his aim, and Terra—his utterly determined will set—pulled himself to his feet and, with a blast of weak Aero magic from the Keyblade, shattered his closest window, just before he broke through it with his own body. Rolling to a stop outside, Terra—beginning to feel the dizziness of using so many spells so rapidly—readied the Keyblade to face whatever shadowy assassin stood across from him—

but no one was there; not any longer. Just the wind-driven grass around, a dead body behind him, and the smoking city below him.

* * *

The smoke made it difficult, but Aqua followed the shadows and made her way nonetheless. This Rosso was faster than she had expected, dashing in and out around her, often with only a shadow of red to mark her passing—but with Ven at her side, they managed.

Rosso swept low with her leg, and Aqua jumped, while Ven press at the spinning deflections of her blade. Coming down with another swing, Rosso turned just in time to block upward at Aqua, as she kicked back with a strike that landed square in Ven's chest, sending him tumbling back.

Smirking, she turned back to Aqua, who had already spun from their first clash into another strike to the other side, followed up by an explosive Luxa spell that lit her Keyblade in a brief eruption of light, refracting through the smoke like lightning through the clouds.

Ven came flying back then, as Rosso was forced from the small explosion, and they both together pressed their advantage again; a team not needing words—though Ven provided them anyway.

"A double-bladed Keyblade would be pretty helpful, y'think?"

Aqua shook her head, able to smile just a shade even in this dismal, burning destruction, "Not now, Ven."

She heard him say something like 'Well, of course you wouldn't need it—', as he pushed ahead, just as she leapt into a flip, head-over heels and springing off her hand, to land the next blow against the stumbling terrorist.

"If you only understood what zis city is built upon; if you only saw ze boot upon ze neck," Rosso growled as Aqua bore down, "Zen, dar-ling, we might dance instead of fight."

Aqua tilted her head, attempting her best attempt at a Terra-flavored taunt, "You mean we aren't already?"

Rosso sneered, turning her block into a jab with the other end of her blade, forcing Aqua to step to the side and parry. Ven closed in again from the left, forcing Rosso into a figure-eight defense, as she spun her elaborate double-blades back and forth to reflect their blows. Aqua felt some strange marvel—this one _was_ unnaturally fast.

Her whispered conjuring of another spell was interrupted by an impressive scissors kick from Rosso, which forced the both of them to beat a retreat, as Rosso moved directly into a spinning strike with her blade down at Aqua, while not forgetting to jab back at Ven as she did.

But in that split moment of space and time, Aqua was able to do what she had done approximately every three minutes: check on her Father, as he currently fought off Weiss' two katanas. From her view, it was like an electric show. Weiss seemed almost to teleport around Eraqus, who never stopped moving himself. Great bursts of Luxaga kept the shifting Weiss at bay, even as Keyblade and katana made constant clash.

It wouldn't be an overstatement, she knew, to describe her Father's work as awe-inspiring. His feet barely moved, if they did at all. For every place where Weiss seemed to vanish and reappear, Eraqus simply shifted his arms and repelled him, occasionally catching him in his signature chains, pulling him back into closer range, where the Keyblade might strike true. Even through the fog of battle, his shadow stood like an immovable landmark, illuminated by the refracting light magic.

Aqua had never seen anyone even match her Father's abilities, and yet, Weiss was still fighting. Who _were_ these people?

Suddenly, from the edge of the plaza, a great pile of rubble seemed to explode and the dark form of Nero, casting an even blacker shadow than the others did amidst the smoke, launched into the air. With a spin, he fell into a dive, directly toward Eraqus, who released a burst of fire and light magic into the air, forcing Nero to dive away from him, rolling to a stop on the ground nearby.

"Ven!" Aqua exclaimed, turning back just as Rosso approached again with another wide strike, "Help Father! I'll handle this one."

Ven, taking only a split second to affirm her choice, sprinted over to stand between Eraqus and Nero. Now it was two to two, Aqua comforted herself—and they were both more likely to make it through, for the trouble.

"Ohhh," Rosso cooed, as she pushed Aqua's blade downward with her own force, launching sparks from the stone ground, "Poor move, darling."

Trapping the Keyblade to the ground by her one blade, caught through the latticework of the tip, Rosso put all her weight on the hilt, using it as an anchor to swing off of with another roundhouse kick aimed to Aqua's head. Still attached to her by the Keyblade, Aqua slid low and underneath, rolling along the mangled and blackened stone, as she dismissed the Keyblade and reformed it, just as Rosso kicked through empty air.

Rosso carried her momentum all the way around her implanted weapon and, coming off the spin, ripped it from the ground and came with a wicked stab from the side, whipping around toward Aqua at an impressive velocity.

But then, suddenly, a woman with long brunette hair and a long blue sweater coat was flying between them, nearly cutting Rosso's arm off with her gunblade—only Rosso wrenching it back painfully saved her limb.

The woman in blue quickly turned to stand beside Aqua, cocking her gunblade and firing off a few shots that forced Rosso to fade back into the fog as she deflected them, now clearly favoring her right arm.

"Sorry, no time for introduction—" the woman suddenly blanched, pulling Aqua down and low, "Shoot! I couldn't stop him."

Following her eyes, Aqua's widened to see the giant form of Azul, parting the smoke as he passed, chuckle as he stooped to retrieve his enormous cannon.

"C'mon, quick—" the woman grabbed Aqua's hand, pulling her, as she yelled back to where she had come, "Squall! Plan B!"

Aqua chanted a quick incantation and, with a flick of the Keyblade, fired off a delayed reflect spell, which dropped as a glowing dome over Azul's crouched form. But as Aqua allowed herself to be dragged over the nearest edge of the plaza and behind a small bulwark of collapsed rubble, she could tell that his standing to full height alone shattered the spell—though it was enough to give him pause.

As they jumped over the rubble and collapsed, backs to the mix of stone and wood protecting them, Aqua found that they weren't alone—a tall man with dark hair was already quickly checking over the woman for wounds, even as she protested, and beside him—

"Hey! It's you!" Zachary Fair exclaimed, eyes wide with a mix of relief and shock. It was then that Aqua allowed herself a second to feel: relief, that Ven, too, had made it through safe—so far.

Any further thought or word, though, was interrupted by the explosive volleys of an opening bombardment. Behind them, the great blasts from Azul's cannon lighted against their makeshift wall, sending bursts of rubble and debris spraying up in the air, to fall upon them in a rain of splinters and pebbles.

The deafening attack just kept coming, as the deep, booming laughter of Azul provided a constant bassline, tangling with the treble of what Aqua guessed to be the amused sadism of Rosso.

"Aqua," Zack yelled over the salvo, as if she were his old friend, "This is Rinoa and Squall! Guys, this is Ven's sister Aqua!"

"A pleasure to meet you—officially!" Rinoa yelled, as the man beside her merely nodded firmly at her. Aqua couldn't help but think that she liked him best.

"We can't stay here forever." Aqua got straight to the point, her mind already returning to Ven and Father, now alone out there.

"You sure?" Zack yelled, "I was kinda thinking about moving in permanently, y'know—"

An eruption of what Aqua guessed used to be brick wall, buried under a door or shingles or somesuch, exploded far too close to home, and everyone shut up, covering their heads as they ducked.

There wasn't time for this.

Aqua, angling her Keyblade like a catapult, aimed about where she thought Azul to be standing and cast off a Thundara spell. From the Keyblade's tip, the spell fired off in an arc, before crashing straight down with a resounding crash and a consequent booming cry.

The momentary lull in Azul's bombardment allowed Aqua to steal a glance beyond their barricade, able only to just see Azul's shadow stumbling closer, still wielding his cannon—but certainly singed. But if she couldn't see the rest of them, that could only mean they were all closing in on—

"Ven…Father…" she murmured, ducking back low as Azul began firing again, even more wildly than before.

Suddenly, Rinoa's hand was on her shoulder, "Go to them. We'll take care of Azul."

"We…will?" Zack intoned.

Aqua paused, finding such compassion in those chocolate eyes, "Are you…sure?"

"Cross my heart and hope to die!" Rinoa responded brightly, "I mean, not literally, of course."

Aqua nodded her thanks and, readying the Keyblade, ran crouched to the end of the bulwark—without stopping, and with only the sound of Azul's attacks to guide her, she immediately launched herself into the air, twisting until she landed on what remained of the nearest rooftop.

Still without pause, she leapt from collapsing roof to collapsing roof, never letting her foot remain still for even a second—for it was all collapsing beneath her even as she circled the rooftops of the plaza's outer edge.

Passing Azul and Rosso, Aqua readied her Keyblade to join her father and brother, as they fended off the sweeping strikes of Nero, who seemed almost carried by a darkness rather than actual flight, and the blade-work of Genesis and Weiss. Allowing herself a rueful smirk, Aqua appreciated the one advantage distance—and the finally clearing smoke—gave her.

Reaching out with her Keyblade, aimed precisely where Genesis and Nero seemed mostly to cluster (as Weiss was far too quick to focus upon), Aqua leapt into the air, twisting, and releasing from the tip of a the Keyblade, multiple beams of magical energy—her own shotlock brew, a mix of Thunder, Fire, Blizzard and Luxa—which spun swirling out into the air, before crashing down in furious salvo—repeatedly, relentlessly—upon the two terrorists. Completing her jump with a perfect landing, Aqua brandished her Keyblade.

As the magic cleared, Genesis was revealed kneeling, clutching at his left arm and gasping. Nero, though undoubtedly damaged by the attack, had kept himself airborne and was now swooping—though imperfectly, Aqua noted triumphantly—toward her. A cartwheel was sufficient to miss his first sharp swipes, while another cast of Blizzara was enough to catch a wing and pull him to the ground—even if only momentarily—for, rather animalistically, he rolled out of his crash and charged her, snarling.

But Ven was suddenly swinging from above and, connecting with one of his outstretched wings, forced Nero stumbling to the ground, his weapons caught beneath him.

"Stay down!" Ven warned, pointing his Keyblade down at Nero's face, hidden behind his metal mask.

Aqua turned quickly to her Father, relieved to see that he had finally seized Weiss in an overwhelming grasp of chains. From every angle, those orange cuffs rose from the ground itself to restrain Weiss by the legs, the ankles, the wrists, the shoulders—Eraqus himself held them tight, his Keyblade steady, straining its power against Weiss' savage strength.

Aqua was about to turn to help with the next most pressing danger—Azul and Rosso—but suddenly a great scream echoed through the plaza and sent goosebumps crawling up Aqua's arms.

It was Genesis—who now lay collapsed on all fours, his body shaking and his mouth wide-open in a still unbroken scream—and it was getting worse, as if he was under some horrifically increasing torture.

Aqua, absolutely opposed to nearly any unknown risk, immediately moved to get him under control—some kind of reflect spell, perhaps—but her steps fell short, nearly to a crawl, as Genesis' back suddenly snapped, and he twisted back unnaturally, his arm thrown freely behind him and his head twisted at an unnatural angle.

Aqua watched in horror as his left shoulder seemed to bulge and crack, ripping his red overcoat, and his neck gave way at nearly a right angle, even as his body remained hunched over the ground—then, a sort of liquid seemed to ooze from him. His eyes bulged and his mouth ripped wide in that still unbroken, hoarse roar. Aqua could only stare. _What the hell were these people?_

Suddenly, with another snap, Aqua thought that Genesis' entire shoulder blade had ripped through his back.

But then, as it unfurled, Aqua was stupefied, paralyzed, by the enormous black wing that stretched out several yards, unfurling ever longer and broader. Genesis' screams fell silent, and now he only panted, even as it twisted and flitted, almost as if alive on its own.

"What the heck—" She heard Ven start, before he interrupted his own words with a yelp.

Turning, she saw that—in his distraction—Ven had lost care of Nero, who had faded through shadows and darkness, to reappear behind him, with his clawed wings raised above to impale him.

And in her distraction, there was no time to respond—Aqua had been too slow to notice.

But not their Father.

With a grunted cry of "Luxaga", great pillars of light formed around Eraqus and launched into the air. Like spears they flew, leaving glowing trails in their wake, until each collided, one after the other with Nero, blasting him into the air, with the final few tossing him into the rubble of one of the plaza's shops.

Aqua turned with pride and relief back to her father, who nodded firmly at her; the assurance of security that he had given each of them for all these years.

But then Aqua noticed something, and her heart dropped—her Father's chains no longer held Weiss, but only empty air.

Everything was slow motion then, as her Father turned to see the same thing as she—but by then, it was too late. Weiss was between the two of them, and although Aqua couldn't see herself, Weiss' unmoving stance could only mean one thing.

Father's Keyblade, simple and elegant; pragmatic and bright, just like him, clattered to the cobblestone with an empty clang that would resound in Aqua's mind forever after—seared and sealed by the way it then simply vanished.

As Weiss faded out again, Aqua dashed forward, the world quieting around her. She reached Eraqus just in time to catch his head before it broke upon the stony ground.

"F-father!" she cried, cradling him close as she examined the wound—a strike straight-through, that Weiss had then viciously ripped out through his side. It was like nothing Aqua had ever seen. She felt dizzy, and her world faded around the edges. What could she do? _What could she do?_

"Aqua…" Father murmured, his eyes distant "Aqua…keep fighting…" he coughed, flecks of blood splattering on Aqua's frozen face, "…no distractions…you…you are Master now."

Aqua barely heard him—she was already working the conjugations in her mind. Her Cures could mend bruises and recover strength; her Curas could set bones and seal wounds; her Curagas could stitch together catastrophic damage and pull one back from the brink—maybe if she could, maybe she could just…a little there, precision there—

"Aqua!" Father said suddenly, aware of her attempts with his clear eyes upon her, "I said—no distractions—"

No, no, no—this wasn't happening. It wasn't possible. He couldn't—Father was…he was a force of nature! She could stop it, if she just had more time—if it just wasn't so deep; so large, so vicious—

No, no, she affirmed herself, this wasn't beyond her abilities. She _could_ do this.

And she knew exactly how.

Taking a deep breath, she readied herself and began the proper incantations. The Keyblade was her focus; her lightning rod. It would just be a simple transfer; just the next step up. She'd read enough; she'd practiced—

Weaving her hands through the air above those horrible, bleeding, oozing, dripping, wounds, Aqua summoned all her ability:

"Curaja!"

Everything quieted for a moment, her Father lay unmoved, but then suddenly the shock moved backwards through her hands and her entire world swayed. Thoughts no longer made sense, she couldn't hold herself up, her vision swam—then the magic shorted and violently threw her back, ripping her from her Father, and ushering her consciousness into darkness.

* * *

Zack marveled in amazement as Aqua leapt what he guessed was about fifteen to twenty yards to land perfectly poised atop a stray board that stuck out from a collapsed roof, before vanishing off along those rooftops.

Man, how could he get himself one of those Keyblades?

Another explosive bombardment from Azul, collapsing where Aqua had just leapt from, brought Zack back to his unfortunate reality, alongside Squall and Rinoa. Not like this was the first foxhole they'd been in together, but never here—not at home, not in the Garden, not right in front of the damn Seventh Heaven.

"Wait, if you guys are here," Zack spoke quickly, keeping himself low and flat against the collapsed-wall-turned-bulwark, "then where the hell is Aerith?"

"With Merlin." Squall answered, quickly shoving Rinoa down as she tried to peek over the edge.

"They're putting out the fires." Squall finished.

"What?! She's here?!" Zack swore, as he now tried to raise his head up to look over the plaza again. The damned smoke had made it so hard to see—but it was slowly becoming thinner and thinner, "So how're we gonna get to her?"

"Like this." Rinoa smirked, detaching her blaster edge from the belt under her blue overcoat. Meant to attach to her wrist and fire a grava-returning projectile, the blaster edge was a favorite of hers. Taking it in one hand, she waved the other over it, whispering.

"What's she doing?" Zack asked, covering his head as another explosion rocked their hiding place—far too close; he could hear almost nothing but Azul's constant offensive.

"Magic." Squall deadpanned.

"No, duh." Zack muttered.

Rinoa tut-tutted both of them, " _Special_ magic."

Sliding it onto her wrist and leaping up before Squall could stop her, Rinoa took careful aim and fired the disc—now glowing in some vaguely white light. Immediately, she ducked back down and hushed them. A few seconds passed, before another explosion resounded—but this one followed up by the bellowing roar of Azul.

Rinoa jumped up, and with a _thwip,_ the blaster edge returned to its hilt on her wrist. Zack and Squall immediately followed, though once he examined the situation, Zack wasn't sure they were in a better place.

While smoke still poured from much of the plaza, from still-burning canopies and wood carts; most of it had simply been reduced to rubble with the cobblestone pavement burnt and ripped from the ground. The fountain was nonexistent anymore, crumbled entirely to a pile of rocks and spraying water.

Azul was stumbling about the wreckage, clutching at his right arm, which was itself smoking and burnt, with his cannon reduced to a mere scrap heap—exploded from the barrel down and back. Nero and Rosso were nowhere to be seen.

And that was the good news.

Because, now clear through the fading smoke, Aqua and her Father were both collapsed on the ground—possibly dead, Zack's worst pessimism feared. Ven was still standing, but barely—looking like a terrified kid, he was being knocked back and forth by the constant assaults of Weiss, fading in and out of visible sight.

Beyond him, Genesis stood, yet still—and Zack wondered if he was seeing things, because stretching out from his left shoulder was now an enormous black wing.

Rinoa, eying up the same situation and drawing similar conclusion, put forth a simple plan: "Gotta go!"

And with that, she took off over the bulwark, dashing toward Ven's weak defense and the now winged terrorist beyond him.

"Rinoa, wait!" Squall yelled, moving after her—but he and Zack were both closed off by the reappearance of Rosso and, behind her, Azul—who now roared not just generally, but quite specifically, _at_ them.

Rosso covered her mouth, laughing, as Azul rumbled past her, viciously swinging with only his two enormous fists. Zack and Squall readied themselves, just as another form swung down upon Azul, embedding a sword deep into his shoulder.

Zack blanched to realize it was Cloud; did the kid know what kind of danger he was in? But, grinding his teeth, Zack knew the truth—no time to worry! They had to take advantage of it!

Together, he and Squall rushed forward to support Cloud, who had planted his feet on Azul's great chest and wrenched his blade free, using the force of release to swing around for his head.

But one giant hand caught the sword in return and pulled Cloud back, leaving him to dangle from the hilt. A shot from Squall's gunblade hit Azul in the fingers, though, forcing him to drop Cloud beside the onrushing Zack.

"Aerith is okay. She's with Tifa." Cloud said quietly and immediately, not even stopping to brush himself off. "They're helping Vincent."

"Aw, what the hell—Vincent is here, too?" Zack muttered, grateful for Cloud's clarity.

Cloud only nodded a response as one closed fist came crashing down between them, shattering the rocks underneath its blow. Zack cut at it as best he could as he moved, trying to rush his blade up Azul's arm.

Opening his hand, Azul moved to sweep Zack away, forcing him to jump up and over his trunk-like arms, and roll up to a stop beside Cloud, who had just fended off a first strike from Rosso.

"Ah, younger blood—now you are handsome, darling." Rosso whispered, pressing in close to Cloud's defense.

Zack cut in between them with the Tsurugi, forcing her back, "Why don't you stay away from him, huh?"

But Zack had misjudged, it seemed, for it was Cloud who darted forward with a broad swing, pressing the attack in the way that only he could—blow after blow after blow, all unaimed, all only intended to keep his opponent on the defensive.

Zack was still working out what he thought of that strategy, but for now, it worked.

Looking back to Azul, Zack caught brief sight of Rinoa fighting off both Weiss and Genesis—the latter now flying (what?) about her head and striking down with his red longsword, as Weiss shifted around her, never letting up the string of blows. Rinoa moved deftly between them, blocking Weiss with broad sweeps of her gunblade—always careful to keep him at a distance—and firing up at Genesis with her blaster edge.

The sight appeared almost choreographed as she switched back and forth between them—spinning with a great sweep at Weiss' katanas, while moving to catch the return of her blaster edge and fire it off again into the air, in prediction of Genesis' new movements. There seemed almost to be a slight glow about her. More "special magic", eh?

Squall, meanwhile, was diving and rolling under and around Azul's broad swings, firing off with the gunblade at his head. One shot, Zack cheered, made contact—snapping Azul's head back as if he were punched, but leaving no sort of puncture behind.

"Rinoa, stop!" Squall suddenly cried across the plaza, jarring Zack—for neither the worried tone, nor the demand to stop fighting seemed characteristic of Squall, who now appeared to be desperately pushing past Azul's enormous bulk to reach Rinoa's fight on the other side.

Zack, trusting them, left Cloud to push back Rosso and moved himself to distract Azul enough to let Squall get to Rinoa. Running, Zack spun the Tsurugi above his head and loosened its multiple blades, which he threw at Azul with a jerk of the hilt. Immediately, five dagger-like sword blades embedded themselves deep in his flesh, all the way up his arm and shoulder.

Meanwhile, Squall slid underneath the giant man and came back to a run on the other side, dashing toward Rinoa who had just gotten a remarkably lucky strike with the blaster edge that had, at least for the moment, dropped Genesis from the air in an explosive display.

With only the central blade of the Tsurugi remaining, Zack charged forward and swung, as Azul roared and moved to rip all the pieces from his arm. Zack's sword came down hard on Azul's grasping fingers, cutting one cleanly off, just as Zack grabbed the in-built hilt of one of the smaller blades, pulling it from Azul as ungracefully as he could before plunging it back, deep into a leg.

Suddenly, another scream broke across the plaza—deep and strong, full of shock and rage. In that brief moment, all eyes turned to Rinoa—who had, it seemed, hit Weiss directly in the chest with the blaster edge, judging by the dark and burnt skin.

But, even more relevant: from his chest emerged the tip of a gunblade, which Squall had driven to the hilt through his back. Another heartbeat went by and Squall, with only a sneer, pulled the trigger.

With that, Weiss was blown off the gunblade, his burnt body flying a few feet into the air before crashing and tumbling across the ground, and coming to a mangled stop, smoke rising from his flesh.

"Brother!" Nero cried, swooping in on darkened movements that violently threw Squall aside, to reach Weiss' body.

"You will all suffer for that!" Azul roared, turning back to Zack, just as a long, silver spear lodged itself deep into his back.

Following its trail back, Zack's spirit soared—there, at the entrance of the plaza, like the rising of the sun after a dark night, stood Commanders Dilan and Aeleus, and behind them, fanning legions of the PKF, weapons drawn.

"Judgment has arrived." Commander Aeleus' deep voice rang across the plaza, as he hefted his great hammer over his shoulder.

"No honor remains in your judgment." The crystal-clear voice of Genesis responded, as he lit down upon his wing to stand before the entire throng. "And your salvation is cruel."

Zack shrank back from Azul, who's attention was now directed elsewhere. Unsure of how, Rinoa was suddenly beside him, holding Squall up with an arm under him. Cloud, too, came to a stop with them, as Rosso flipped over and past him, to stand with Genesis and Azul, over Nero cradling the body of Weiss.

Commander Dilan merely shook his head and shrugged, "Fire."

All at once, two things happened. The PKF followed orders, as each helmeted soldier lifted their weapons, at least one-hundred strong, and poured their muskets into Deepground—or, at least, where they had stood.

Because, second, Azul lumbered before them and scooped up Nero and Weiss in his arms. Rosso, with a swing, lighted upon his shoulder and, finally, Genesis, with a great flap of his wing that seemed impossible to Zack on several levels, lifted the giant Tsviet and launched into the sky above like a rocket, vanishing from sight—leaving the PKF only to further scar the pavement.

After a minute of constant fire, Commander Dilan called for cessation and Aeleus began to direct the PKF out into the plaza to begin recovery and stabilization. For the first time, Zack allowed himself to really breathe, and he collapsed on his haunches, letting the Tsurugi fall amongst its many scattered pieces.

The four of them, Rinoa, Squall, Cloud, and Zack, together looked with exhaustion and shock over the entire devastation; of crumbling houses, hollowed-out shops, and burnt bodies. The entire plaza, so bright and familiar just an hour ago, now seemed to Zack more an alien landscape; some barren mountain-top burnt by a forest fire—its haunting silence now broken only by the loud wailings of Ven, who crouched, crying and shaking, over the forms of his father and sister.


	14. Thus Fall the Stars

_**.**_

 _ **Chapter XIV: Thus Fall the Stars  
**_ _But the line dividing good and evil  
cuts through the heart of every human being.  
And who is willing to destroy  
a piece  
of  
their  
own  
heart…?  
~Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn _

Why could the world not hold itself together until they finished their work?

This was Xehanort's question, as he sat alone in the Bastion's Grand Library. _The Plaza Attack_ , as it was already being called, had so far resulted in eighty-four confirmed deaths and another one-hundred and twenty-two wounded. Those were the latest numbers, a few hours old—and yet, even as the clock chimed out a midnight that was near a half-day since the first explosion rocked the Garden's foundations, recovery efforts were still underway and the count was still in flux.

All his brothers were elsewhere; each one taken up with their various duties. The PKF was on high-alert. The Lord Protector was in meeting after meeting with his senior officials, always flanked by his apprentices. Xehanort had determined himself needless in these meetings and excused himself to sit here, alone in the Library, absently leaning on a hand and looking out one of the great windows that gave view to the Garden's smoky night air—pondering again and again that question:

Why? Why must the world fall so quickly?

They could not keep up.

Xehanort felt as though he were one of the old postmen, racing his horse across the wide plains, carrying a letter that would stay the execution of a condemned man—knowing that every moment, he was falling ever behind the irretrievable advance of time.

How could he possibly make it? How could he find the answers and change the world before the world destroyed itself? Today's events were the noose draped around the collective neck of the Garden—and, therefore, the world. Soon, unless he acted, the floor would drop out and the whole creation would jerk about in an excruciating and futile demise.

There was simply no time to waste.

His eyes flitted to the bookcase, tucked back behind the others, with that specific combination of texts that would lead him back to the basement; to hope. The hope that Ansem insisted on tossing away. The hope of the world. His hope.

The end of sleepless nights, feverish visions, and crushing unknown anxieties, all hounding him as he wandered through the dark.

With a deep breath and practiced compartmentalization, Xehanort took stock of the other events of the day. Vincent Valentine was still missing, though Dilan would soon find the thieves—those who stole from the very future!—and another decision would have to be made. Such an intractable problem, spread among so very many stubborn, troublesome people. An irregular solution must be reached there; one that would not leave suspicious trails for Aeleus to follow.

Yes, indeed, it seemed to Xehanort that Braig's special method had worked for the last time that day. Hojo's lost scientist had passed, though Braig had drawn too much attention in the work.

But fate had handed them a hidden boon in the midst of tragedy, by the demise of Eraqus. His children would be left sufficiently in shock and confusion—giving he and the others enough time to decide how best to deal with them. Some sleight of hand; some change of attention. Perhaps Shinra could take the fall for all of it. It required more thought.

But in the face of such tragedy, Xehanort could only return again to that oppressive hopelessness and desperate longing. All the answers, for him and the world, were tied up inside him, and yet here stood Ansem, sabotaging his world and his son, over some antiquated code of thoughtless and baseless self-stupefaction!

That was another reason he had separated himself—he could no longer tolerate to be in the presence of Ansem's unbearably self-righteous insipidity. All this death, death upon death, and all for what? Nothing at all. Ansem had the true answer right in his reach, in Xehanort, and dismissed it.

In some way, though he wept for the tragedy, Ansem was truly to blame for his short-sighted stupidity.

Xehanort tried slowing himself, as he realized his breathing had become erratic and his fists clenched. But his blood only pumped harder and his emotions rose—but were they really doing any better than Ansem?

All their work, all their sacrifices, all that they were willing to give up—their resources, their positions, their beliefs, everything; just for that small sliver of hope they trusted to the experiments. And yet, they have returned so little and nothing that would have stopped the Plaza Attack. Was no sacrifice enough? Was fate taunting them? Was he a cursed man?

Rising, Xehanort marched across the hall and ripped out the necessary books. Stepping into the gravira elevator, as the hidden door shut behind him, he frowned, noticing again the clenching and unclenching of his fists.

He sighed. They couldn't keep this secret forever.

Unless something broke, unless some advancement occurred, it would all end eventually. Vincent or Hojo or Shinra would reveal it; Aeleus or Ansem would catch on; the damned world would collapse into chaos first—or he himself would simply, and finally, lose his mind to derangement.

For Xehanort, after this terrible day, one of the latter two seemed most likely—and he wasn't convinced he knew which was worse.

The elevator slid slowly open, and Xehanort stepped out into their sterile, white lab. He had to distract himself with something. He had to adjust something, read something, study something. Something had to be accomplished _now._ He had to just—

Freezing, Xehanort's eyes widened to see one of the creatures, short and hunched, oozing darkness and jerking along with those ever-twitching antennae, standing still in the center of the main hall.

Free.

But it didn't move to attack him. It didn't fade into its two-dimensional shadow form. Its beady yellow eyes, almost-gold, stared emptily past (through? _into?_ ) Xehanort—and Xehanort only stared back, the quiet of the laboratory ominous—or, perhaps, pregnant with breakthrough.

With that imperceptible slide of their twisted, clawed feet, the creature turned away from Xehanort and shuffled toward the entrance of their cage. There it stood, shifting back and forth in front of it, all twitches and spasms.

Moving forward cautiously, though admittedly somewhat entranced, Xehanort—before he even fully considered what he was doing—entered the proper code into the desk computer beside the door. With a whoosh, it slid open and the creature shuffled inside to join its fellows.

Xehanort, breathless, slowly walked up after it.

Normally, their prison was, as it ever was, a tumult of shadows, shifting and shambling over each other; each following their antennae and eyes after some unknown and distant hunger.

But now, there was no movement; no confusion. Each of the dozen or so creatures stood quite still, apart from their slight vacillations; each with their blank, golden eyes trained on Xehanort. In between them, a path had opened, leading to the opposite wall: no longer the lab's white metal, but now a dark oaken door with a golden knob.

In any other circumstance, Xehanort would have immediately presumed he was hallucinating; that some of Braig and Even's stash had found its way into his tea. But today was not a normal day, and these were not ordinary circumstances.

Xehanort was captured—his most intense of dreams now stood before him, clothed in reality. The Heartless watched him. Things were different. This…this was a breakthrough. Something had changed. Something would change.

Stepping forward, Xehanort moved between the parted sea of yellow eyes, following him as his arm reached out for the knob. It was warm to the touch.

Without hesitancy and without second thought; with the weight of a lifetime of questions and hunger behind him, there was an echoing click as Xehanort turned the knob,

opened the door,

and changed the world.

* * *

Zack muffled a groan as he lifted another large chunk of rock and tossed it on the ever-growing pile. Hours and hours—they were working by Fira light now—and they still had not excavated all of the damage.

He had gone through all the cycles, a dozen times over. Exhaustion faded from shock, which turned to anger, which gave way to grief and sorrow, which cemented into dedication, which, given enough time moving rocks and silencing his fellow workers who grumbled and cursed Wutai, fell back again to exhaustion.

And Zack had learned enough from Aerith to know that he hadn't even _begun_ to process all the horror of the last twelve hours. The horror of mangled bodies and burnt-out homes; the terror of mothers begging for their children, husbands looking for their wives, and children staring into the empty air with blank eyes.

No. No one had even _begun_ to deal with this.

Just about when the fellow next to him, tossing aside some kind of crossbeam, decided to pipe up again, with some variation of "Look, all I'm saying is that the Wutain's _enjoy_ this kinda stuff—", the exhaustion didn't cycle to anger, and Zack simply dropped his rock.

"Just shut the f*ck up."

And he turned, walking back from the edge of the plaza to the large tent that had been set up in the center to serve as a temporary medical shelter for those who couldn't yet be taken to any of the overwhelmed infirmaries. The moon was half-full above, and the sky full of stars—it had to be, Zack guessed, 11 or 12 by now, but he had lost track of time back when it was still light.

As he approached, Zack had to pass through them—the field of wrapped bodies that were still waiting to be identified. He finally had to close his eyes, unable to tear himself away from them. Still, though, the air smelt of burnt _everything_ and the terrible moans of those inside filled his ears, rising above even the sound of their excavations.

Outside of the tent, several stations were set up, with chairs and tables for those resting. At this hour, however, only one chair was currently occupied: Aerith sat, eyes closed and head tilted back, in a seat that looked out over the gruesome field.

Coming close, Zack just stood and looked at her. Her hair was tied up sloppily in a bun, every straying tuft evidence of another attempt to hastily retie it. Her small face was dirtied and smudged from repeated smearing. She wore a white coat over her dress, but both were covered in blood and grime and other things Zack didn't guess at. Even her dark brown boots, always looking so funny on her tiny legs, were splashed with blood and slightly burnt.

His heart broke for her! hHw exhausted she had to be from the Cure magic, which—as practitioners slowly became helpless in their magicked mental exhaustion—tended to give way to the art of traditional medicine, which Aerith, unfortunately for her, also excelled at. She looked…she was just so…emptied.

Not like Zack looked or felt any better himself, he knew, but Aerith…Aerith wasn't supposed to suffer this way. To feel this. She was an angel who should fly free—but over the last two days, had been laid low to the earth by the burdens hefted upon her.

"Do you really think I can sleep at a time like this?" she suddenly said, a gentle rebuke in her voice.

Zack snorted and came to crouch beside her, "I had kinda hoped you could."

"I wish we all could." Aerith said, one eye looking out over the field of bodies.

"How are you holding up?" Zack asked, moving his arms to massage her shoulders. It was good to use them for something else other than moving rocks.

"As good as I look, I imagine." Aerith replied, sighing slightly from his work, "and you?"

"The same." Zack responded shortly. Words didn't need to be spoken. Experience said most everything.

But, of course, Zack always had to say _something._

"I can't help but wonder, y'know…" he said quietly, as Aerith rubbed the back of his hands, "if this…had anything to do with my investigation…"

Aerith turned her head to look at him over her shoulder, eyes showing that mix of pity, love and admonition that only Aerith could accomplish, "Oh Zack…you aren't always the center."

"Yeah, I guess…" Zack shook his head, "—maybe."

The ghost of a smirk danced on Aerith's lips and she looked about to respond, before her eyes caught something above, far up and beyond him.

"Is…is that what I think it is?"

Zack, frowning, turned to look over his shoulder. High above the Garden, streaks of brilliant white had begun to light across the sky.

* * *

The smoke from the fire blew with the wind and into Aqua's face, forcing the tears that had been threatening all evening to finally escape down her cheeks. Little sparks of light lit off from the pyre and disappeared into the night air like miniature, quiet fireworks—the final celebration of the life of her Father, who now burned in the traditional way atop a pile of wood and brush.

"So you're Master now." Ven whispered beside her, his own face streaked with tears.

Aqua's eyes remained glued to the burning pyre, bright against the night sky. There was not a second of this she would forget.

"No. Just Aqua."

Quiet fell again, except for the crackling hunger of the fire in which their Father burned, as the three stood lonely and watched; one final respect for their teacher, guardian, and parent.

"Maybe…maybe if I had been there—If I—" Terra suddenly spoke, a low murmur that, had it been any louder, clearly would've broken. Aqua hushed him by reaching out and taking his hand, which was stiff against his side.

Though his stony-face wouldn't have betrayed it, Aqua could tell he winced by the twitch of his eye, as his shoulder moved to accommodate. Lucretia's body was still inside, surrounded by ice magic until they decided what to do. Without Father, every decision now felt like tottering over an abyss.

Each one blamed themselves, she knew—Terra for not being there and for Lucretia's loss, Ven for being the cause of Father's distraction from Weiss _(may that one be cursed)_ , and Aqua, last of all, for not being enough—and each one knew the other blamed themselves.

In this, they all stood in silent, yet knowing, solidarity. Each one feeling the condemnation of the flames that consumed the man who had brought them all together.

With such attention, none noticed until Eraqus was but ash and coals that the very sky had begun weeping for their father.

* * *

Everything hurt and everything was wrong. Vincent tried to open his eyes, but couldn't seem to get them to respond. His limbs wouldn't move without an exquisite pain that burned from within, and something…something was wrong inside him. They had…done something to him. Added something to him. They had put something inside him. This…this wasn't right. Nothing was right.

"Lu…Lucretia…" he whispered, more breath than voice, through chapped lips.

"Oh my, you're awake!" a warm, whisker-y voice answered, coming closer, "Is there anything I can get you?"

"Lucret…tia…" Vincent murmured again, "Where is…Lucretia…"

"I'm sorry, young man, but I don't know anything about a Lucretia," he coughed, "I, I should say, I'm Merlin. You are in my house. I've been watching you since Tifa brought you here."

Vincent fell silent—that was right. In the midst of his delusions and nightmares, within that blend of reality and hallucination; in that endless in-between state, he remembered being carried, moved—then explosions and more moving—but then the gentle hand, a healing touch; Lucretia?

"Aerith did everything she could for you on such short notice—I must say, it's quite miraculous that you are still with us." Merlin said, as Vincent heard a pipe lit up, "My healing magics are not quite as perfected as hers, but I assure you, I am giving them all my old and exhausted body has left after a day such as the horror behind us."

Vincent didn't respond. He lived in a world all his own now. No sight, no smell, barely able to touch or hear—it was just he, himself, and whatever this…other that was inside him. Something moved through him, coursing and twisting. Something unnatural. Something that made him feel deeply wrong, at odds, with himself. Something that made the isolated dark of his inner experience only more deep and lonely. They…those…they had made him a monster, monstrous even to himself. Something was so very wrong…

Beyond the wizard, Vincent's dark and unfocused vision caught streaks of light passing by in the distance, through the window; a collapse mirroring his own soul.

* * *

"Where is Xehanort? He can't just vanish at a time like this!" Even whispered ferociously, hunched over with Braig, as Aeleus remained speaking with a few officials.

Ienzo leaned back against the wall across from them, looking out through the window with characteristic disinterest.

"Dude's gone and lost it." Braig shook his head solemnly, "He's all loopy—just takes one bad day, y'know—and today was a damn-f*cking-doozy."

"We need to plan. You may have taken care of one problem, but there's still one roaming free," Even nearly growled, "And after today, everything will be—"

"A meteor shower." Ienzo murmured, suddenly; a pique of curiosity evident.

"What?! Preposterous!" Even cried, "The Draconids aren't for another month, at least!"

* * *

Rinoa marched with dedicated fervor through the disturbingly quiet, shut-up streets, "Do you think it's suspicious that _none_ of our quintillion meetings have been with the Commanders?"

"A bit." Squall replied, his eyes examining every shadow.

"And how about the fact that, of all the Colonels, only Trepe went to every meeting—" she began outpace Squall, who allowed it—easier to keep an eye on any possible threats that way, "—and not a single Lieutenant or Major from the sixth—"

"Deling was there." Squall interrupted absently.

Rinoa just gave him a look, "Alright, fine—still suspicious if you ask me."

"You're one to talk." Squall said; the momentary escape of an uncontrolled emotion.

Rinoa slowed down, "Excuse me?"

"Earlier. That was too close. Again." Squall spoke slowly, but deliberately. How could he make her understand? "You weren't holding back."

"You're hard one to satisfy, Mr. Leonhart." Rinoa said firmly, her face steely, "What do you want me to do? Whether I hold back or help, neither seems to placate you."

Squall had no counterargument to that, so he only frowned. It was a rock and hard place. He'd die before risking any of his friend's lives—but he'd also die before risking _any_ of Rinoa.

And her stubborn insistence to not kill was quickly reaching a head. Once he thought it only foolish, but it was quickly becoming dangerous…to her and everyone else.

He needed her more balanced—but she always went too far: either nearly revealing what should be kept secret, or holding back too much, and avoid hurting even those who deserved it.

"Look, I know." She sighed, her face softening, "We—I—have to be careful. I'm the one making this choice. But we can't—I _refuse_ to just, to—to—" she paused, "What's even the goal here, Squall?"

"Protecting you." He replied, matter-of-factly. Why did he have to remind her so often!

Rinoa shook her head, "Oh, Squall—I'm just one person. No more and no less than anyone else."

"Not to me."

They had stopped walking by now, and Rinoa had reached up to cup his face. The whole boulevard was hauntingly empty, except for them, all illuminated by the flicker of Fira lanterns.

Her eyes were warm, even under a furrowed brow, and her smile bittersweet, "I know."

She stepped back and lifted her arms to the sky, her blue coat draping around her like a rippling wave, "But the world is so much bigger, Squall."

Following her arms up, Squall was almost impressed to see the opening salvos of a meteor shower cross the sky, as if Rinoa had summoned it to punctuate her point. He shook his head, the most mirth he could've managed in this whole, awful, terrible day: _this girl._

* * *

Cid murmured to himself as he wandered about outside the gates of the city. It was all too damn claustrophobic in their today. Everyone closed up and wrapped up together; all hiding and fear and bent inward. Not that he could blame anyone—it was a damn f*cking awful day and everyone had earned the right to do whatever they damn well pleased.

And he pleased to just get out, under the open sky, away from all the traps. He needed to breathe again.

'course, the gates had been locked up tight almost immediately after them asshole terrorists decided to f*ck everyone. Luckily, he knew a guy who knew a guy who knew a guy. An old military favor there, trading a bottle of some good vintage here, and bada-f*cking-boom, he was wandering the grassy plateaus that stretched out for miles around, until dropping off into the canyons to the West.

Lighting another cigarette, Cid hiked up his pants and decided he had come far enough away from the city. He'd get a good view here. Taking a deep, preparatory breath, Cid closed his eyes and raised his head and, puffing out his smoke slowly, opened his eyes—

And there she was: true beauty. Not some fake-ass sexy floozy, but real, knock-your-socks-off-stun-you-stupid profound-ass f*cking beauty.

Away from the light and the din, away from the confusion and noise, away from the destruction and loss—there were the stars, steady as always, glowing in their perfect, inviting, haunting constancy. Nothing but stars filled his whole vision—and that was just the way he liked it.

In that moment, the damned ghosts of Shinra vanished; the new haunts of f*cking crazy terrorists were put on pause—it was just him and the endless dark up there, filled with those speckling lights and—oh, sh*t! If he wasn't the luckiest mother*cker alive: a meteor shower!

Flaming, brilliant lights scattered across the air, like tumbling dice tossed from a cup, leaving sparkling, fading trails in their wakes. They fell even lower than usual, it seemed, each one—rather than burning up—vanishing out of his vision on all sides. It was like a f*cking dance, and those stars were inviting him up to join them.

Cid took another long draught, a smile broad across his face that he wouldn't be caught dead with elsewhere. Now the stars were just a'spoiling him! He came out here—when there certainly ain't supposed to be no meteor showers—and they decided to give him one anyway. Goddamn. On today of all days.

Luckiest. Motherf*cker. Alive.

Cid watched, quite content—mesmerized, even—as he drank in the healing sight. One, in particular, caught his eye—especially bright, probably closer, with an unique red-tinge to it. Was probably burning hot on entry.

That made it all the more beautiful—sure, it'd burn up sooner; it'd get all eaten up by the asshole pressures around it—but for those few moments, god, for those few moments it _shone._ He felt this one.

But then, it didn't burn up.

It just kept falling—and falling closer and closer. He could now almost see it, with his bare-ass eyes: the glowing heat that surrounded the rock itself. How the f*ck could it get so close?

An ounce of fear shocked itself through Cid's deadened nerves and he finally tore his gaze from above to follow this bizarre outlier—closer, closer, closer and then—

A small explosion nearly tripped Cid's PTSD as the meteor hit earth no more than two kilometers away.

Two. F*cking. Kilometers.

Goddamn, Cid marveled, lighting another cigarette and breaking off at a run he knew he'd come to regret later. Damn body wasn't getting younger.

Still, though,

Luckiest. Motherf*cker. Alive.

* * *

Genesis stretched his wing, feeling it again and again as he watched Rosso approach Nero for the third time since they had lit upon this tiny cavern to rest.

"He's gone, Nero." Rosso said sternly, standing over the darkened man who lay clutching the limp body of his brother; who had passed even before they escaped the Garden.

"Hush, Weiss, hush…they don't…they don't understand. But I-I…I do-I hear you…"

"Pathetic." Rosso murmured, turning back to the rest of them, hunched around the small fire they had lit to keep the chill away. Azul laughed, for some reason—finding Rosso's heartless condescension amusing, apparently. Or perhaps he had simply recalled their success and found some perverse mirth. Genesis did not pretend to understand it.

They did not share this mission because of likeness in person, after all, but likeness in purpose. Likeness in history. Likeness in suffering.

But didn't that mean, perhaps, that there was, indeed, a likeness in person? What else was life than these?

"Weiss will not have died in vain," Genesis decided to speak, "We shall complete the mission."

"Do you lead now, Rhapsodos?" Azul murmured, his glowing eyes turning to him.

"Perhaps." Genesis replied, eyes trained forward, "I offer thee this silent sacrifice."

"Weiss! Weiss!" Nero suddenly cried, "You send us a sign!"

Altogether, the three looked up to follow Nero's cries—outside the cave, a meteor shower had begun, leaving fading trails of light to rip across the oppressive night sky.

"The goddess descends from the sky…" Genesis said thoughtfully, as Nero looked at him with surety that proved he believed Weiss had personally appointed Genesis to complete their mission.

And that burden, Genesis accepted with grace. Though the 'morrow be barren of promises, though perhaps they should all become silent sacrifices to the cause, there would yet still be redemption.

* * *

As the midnight hour was pushed, and the final meetings were closed and Aeleus and the others were left to wrap up relevant final concerns, Ansem finally allowed himself to be excused to his personal study.

Not to rest—no, there would be no rest tonight. How could any leader rest after such a day of loss? The next few hours at least would be filled with writing the speech with which he would inform and encourage the people in the morning.

Bidding his sons good night and urging them to rest themselves, Ansem couldn't help but note Xehanort's absence—in fact, Xehanort had been absent most of the evening. Such was so unlike him.

Ah well, allow the young man to process in whatever way he saw fit—at least, for today.

Ansem sighed as he climbed up the long halls of the Bastion—the poor boy; to be burdened by all this when his own weight was already so great. But he would have to learn to bear it, just as Ansem himself had. He would have to learn to put his own concerns aside for the good of the whole. He would lead the Bastion, and the Bastion led the Garden, and the Garden led the whole world toward a future of civilization and glory and peace.

Oh, but these were difficult lessons! Xehanort's questioning at the party proved as much. But he would learn to survive. He would come to cope. After a day of suffering like this, surely, he would see the way to putting aside his own needs. They were necessary lessons—and ones he must learn if he was to lead these people.

Oh, and these people! They would want someone to blame—he had heard as much from multiple officials, already. The people's anger and fear would be manipulated. Ansem knew he needed to quell those instincts—nothing good could come of them. As he had told the boys uncountable times: they needed to remove themselves from those emotional temptations. The Garden must set the shining example for the world, even under immense pressure: its last, best hope—as ever it had always been.

Testing lines in his head, Ansem pulled open the door to his office. Inside, among his books and writings, one of the nursemaids lay stretched out on a couch, her face still stained and streaked by tears (there had been many in that Castle that day). But if she were here, then that would mean—

Reaching his main desk, Ansem turned his great red chair gently about to see little Kairi curled up on its seat, like a cat in its bed.

Sighing at this one spark of light at the end of a dark day, Ansem gently lifted her fragile form, laying her against his chest as he sat. She shifted slightly and, half-awake, mumbled what little she had overhead that day,

"Poppy Ansem…are the…are the bad guys gone?"

Ansem batter her back, a tear escaping his eye. What a world to pass on to one such as this.

"There is nothing you need fear, my child."

Kairi seemed to accept this and shifted to face away from the light of the small candle Ansem had lit to write by. Taking up his quill, Ansem had poised himself to write that all-important first-line, when Kairi shifted again and murmured,

"Poppy the…the stars are falling…"

And as Ansem turned to glance out the far window, sure enough, they certainly were.

* * *

Dilan gruffly received the stack of reports from the saluting aide, who exited without a word.

With a great sigh, he lit another candle, and began to flip through these newest returns; a growl passing his lips every time "wounded" became "dead." This travesty against the Garden could not go unanswered. Wutai had gone too far, this time—at best, they were guilty of negligence, which had now become criminal with such mass slaughter.

At worst, these disgusting terrorists were Wutain themselves. Either way, justice would fall upon them like a hammer.

Reaching the end of the first list, Dilan reached for his inkwell and quill. With careful and practiced precision, he added another name to the end of the fatalities: _Lucretia Crescent._

Sighing, he placed the paper down to dry. It was for the best; a single sacrifice for the whole. The lesser for the greater. The work must continue and those who discover it without perceiving its value were those who sided with the terrorists.

Speaking of which—Dilan reached for the next stack of papers, the top of which bore the report he had requested regarding their wayward soldier who had lost his way in the Castle and taken their precious handiwork.

Flipping open the file, Dilan met a serious and solemn face, surprisingly young with startlingly bright eyes and blonde spikes of hair, the chaos of which profoundly bothered Dilan. A private—Cloud Strife.

* * *

"Couldn't stay there anymore?" Tifa asked, contenting herself, after all this, with the slight surprise she caused him.

Cloud looked over his shoulder as Tifa pulled herself up and over the lip of the wall, to come and sit on the opposite side with him, both propped up on their hands.

Soon after arriving in the Garden, when they were still living on the streets, before Aerith and everyone had found them, they had found this section of the wall—an old, cordoned-off guard tower that took only a little push and creativity to climb.

With that little investment, they got a fantastic view as they let their legs dangle over the outer edge of the wall, with all the light of the city and Bastion behind them and all the open fields and canyons stretching out before them—and beyond that, the hills and mountains of the outer provinces.

"Yeah." Cloud responded, turning back to look out as Tifa came to sit beside him, "Too dark."

"Yeah." Tifa affirmed. They didn't really have words to capture what had gone on the last two days. She'd cried out her last tears hours ago. She was nowhere near being able to sleep.

Horror upon terror—and, now that Vincent was safely with everyone else, Tifa could only fear that this was only the beginning.

Cloud's eyes flittered back and forth across the landscape, occasionally turning to check up and down the wall.

"Do you see something?"

"No." Cloud answered, "But it was there earlier. Watching everything. That's how I knew."

"Knew what?" Tifa asked, a chill rushing down her spine. Her instincts suddenly urged her to pull her feet out of the shadows over the wall.

"I saw it. In broad daylight." Cloud spoke with an icy monotone, his eyes now riveted out over the landscape. "It was looking at me. And it smiled."

"So you grabbed Vincent and then—" Tifa began, unable to finish. Cloud only nodded, and silence descended on them again.

Suddenly, lights began to dot the distant midnight darkness. Long trails of brilliant meteors fell through the air, the reverse of Merlin's magical work at the party. So bright were they, that Tifa could see Cloud's face lit up in their passing; filling the sky with their entrancing majesty.

"Tifa…I'm sorry you never saw the end of the fireworks."

"It's alright—just…just promise me I'll get a dance sometime."

"…I promise."

Tifa, with as much broken boldness as she could muster, reached over a few inches to place her hand over his.

And he didn't retreat—so together, they watched the sky fall.

 _Terminus: Part I of III_

* * *

 _As we wrap of this first part and enter a brief break, I thought I'd share some thoughts on KH3. I'd love to hear your thoughts—both about the chapter and the game!  
~Mars_

KH3 SPOILERS

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 ** _To Improve KH3 (while letting Nomura keep his story and FFvXIII/TWEWY/Ux-intentions)_**

 _-Keep Gameplay as is—very nice. Very satisfying. Keep nice world set-up and secrets. Maybe ratchet up difficulty. Make a Coliseum in Zeus' court to round off the whole thing as a triad. Have Yoko Shimomura write the soundtrack for real life, plz. Keep the lovely humor. Keep Sora's excellent arc. Keep most worlds as-is. Cut back on the ridiculous amount of minigames that like 5% of people will be invested in and use those resources to make other improvements (like these?)._

 _-Rewrite Arendelle and Corona to be unique stories-or, at least, only loosely based on the movies, while actually including important plot points. Have Pixar do it, because they kicked butt with their worlds. Include more Disney-bosses and either get rid of 100-Hundred Acre Wood, or do something with it (insert into the mid-climax suggested below, perhaps?)._

 _-Don't give Larxene and Marluxia magic cutscene powers like sleep and time-stopping they won't use elsewhere. Don't let the others, like Ansem SoD in TT or Luxord in Caribbean, became decayed and cheesy versions of their prior threat. Get rid of, or explain WAY better, why there are six new Princesses+Kairi. Explain "the Power of Waking" just a bit better._

 _-Give us scenes between every world with more meaningful stuff re:Kairi and Riku. We haven't really seen them in awhile, so we need to be reacquainted. Have Riku actually do stuff—rather than constantly fail until Sora literally falls from the sky. Expand on Repliku return? Or a Maleficent angle? Have Kairi do more stuff, with more scenes expanding on her (like that lovely scene where she talks about Namine!), rather than just how Axel sees her as Xion. Have character and a sense of gravity behind Riku's blade being broken. Play up the themes of agency and personhood on Sora's side, so as to better foil the themes of possession and control on Xehanort's._

 _-Insert a mid-climax between Corona and Monstropolis, with a return to Radiant Garden. Seriously needed to unbloat the climax and evenly distribute the story. Include:  
1\. Meeting the FF peeps and concluding their plot with RG's redemption (Leon: "you can call me Squall"). Give. Us. Sephiroth version 3.0. and resolution to that thread._

 _2\. Seeing Ienzo and setting up the replica/sea-salt trio better (Roxas' body/who & how Xion/further Axel redemption), even though it's probably the best thread currently, behind SDG._

 _3\. Having some seriously needed interaction with the Destiny Trio—(A) as individuals (sorely needed for Riku and Kairi-have her interact with her forgotten home!), (B) as a united friendship (Kairi/Riku, plz!) and (C) to set up the SoKai stuff better. Like, for real, we need to be able to take selfies with them—seriously, how could we have the phone and NEVER have a chance to selfie with our OG friends?!)_

 _4\. Have Riku save Aqua here—not Sora. It advances his character arc better, as he turns with his Mastery to save other people from darkness (and then don't make Aqua passively suck suddenly with OOC decisions). Then save Ven with Sora and cement their return and relationships to everyone else (so as to stop rushing the finale and let their moment have its own power—just say they need to "rest" till the climax). Let us see real, personal effects of being trapped in RoD and asleep for almost ten years._

 _5\. Tell us wtf is happening with Demyx. Set up Vexen/Ansem stuff better. Nomura, you could even tease Subject X girl more. C'mon. Have a tease-fight with the Org, rather than saving it all for the end._

 _6\. Probably too much to ask to have Kairi and/or Riku accompany Sora the rest of the way through the game, though it would be dearly needed. So have them do something interesting and important with their time post-mid-climax. Make RG/HB a hub world, returning to it for various stuff. Play up Repliku, Namine, and Roxas/Xion in their hearts so we feel more invested in their persons and, thus, more catharsis when they are retrieved. Have Kairi looking for a way to save Namine. Maybe her and Riku ae traveling together?_

 _-Expand on the lovely "calm before the storm" moments for our heroes—especially the Destiny Trio. Have the paopu moment, but don't rush it so much. Have Riku, Sora, and Kairi doing something together. Have Axel engaging with someone about Xion/Roxas—along with the good Isa stuff. Show us what Mickey, Donald, and Goofy are doing -together-._

 _-At Keyblade Graveyard opening, don't make everyone suddenly suck. Why is Aqua not reacting -at all- to Terranort killing Ven? What was the point of Kairi's "infinite time training" if she just stands there so Sora can, also, not draw his Keyblade? Why are Riku and Mickey just twiddling their thumbs? Have everyone be badass, but still get beaten—then do all the interesting Final World stuff, with Riku's words encouraging Sora in death while SHOWING Kairi, as a PoH, still in the Realm of Light, somewhere in the tornado, ACTIVELY WORKING to keep Sora's hanging on in the FW, rather than including her passively after. Maybe…playable?! Just show some damn agency and the profound bonds of the Destiny Trio. Make the Namine scene here mandatory—I can't fathom why they'd let that crucial plot point pass as optional._

 _-Keep sick final-boss rush, but don't make everyone take a heel-turn redemption (and give us some team-up limits with everyone! Riku/Sora limit! Sora/Kairi limit! Sora/Roxas limit! SoRiKai Limit!). Marluxia and Xemnas needed to be more ambiguous in death. Luxord, Larxene, Xion, Vanitas, YX, Terranort, Xigbar, and Repliku were all great—even perfect. Saix needed to prove himself more, and there's NO WAY Ansem SoD can suddenly be sympathetic like that. Slow it down—and give us some thematic build-up through the rush. Make it feel like a real, empowering, meaningful victory because of character growth (or the opposite: make it feel like one, drawn-out, hopeless loss to underscore how Xehanort is winning)._

 _-Give the Xion-return moment to Kairi—not Sora. It's perfect for her and her connections to Xion nad gives Kairi agency. Keep giving other characters agency in these moments other than Sora—let Aqua and Ven play centerstage in returning Terra, rather than Sora's magic (and get the Lingering Will resolved into that—da f did he go?). Don't make Sora the savior of every story—it feels cheap and demeans the character journeys we've been invested in for so long when they don't play an active and significant role in their resolution. The whole foil of Sora's side is that he respects, loves, and nurtures the agency of everyone else—contradicting Xehanort's possessive control of all his members. Taking agency away from characters to give it all to Sora not only undermines the characters, including Sora, it undermines the very THEMATIC HEART of Kingdom Hearts itself. Have Sora's agency be to make OTHER people agents of their redemption._

 _-Don't let Kairi just be kidnapped again after 30-seconds of scripted fighting, after promising to -finally- invest in her immensely untapped potential. Have Saix (+Xemnas?) versus Sora, Xion, Roxas, Kairi, and Axel (also, explain how Axel got his keyblade -back-). Lea, even though he couldn't face Xemnas, still has -powerful- character moments—at least give Kairi the same respect. Make that the last scripted battle, so that Kairi accompanies Sora to meet Mickey and Riku._

 _-Either have Kairi use her infinite-training to join the fight with Xemnas, Ansem, and YX (to resonate that the whole Destiny Trio is together at the end, evolved, but together) or have her doing something else important (maybe with, I dunno, PoH POWERS?!). Have her ACTIVELY sacrifice herself for Sora, mirroring what he did for her in KH1, rather than MX passively killing her for no good goddamn reason while snarking at the camera that Kairi exists literally only for Sora's motivation—even though Sora was already charging MX. Also show Riku have some damn emotion about his other best-friend being killed. Sorry, I'm reaallly salty about this. It's total BS._

 _-Don't have MX give up so easily, and get his motivation to jive better with what came before in all these years. Don't swap it out to something else in literally the last 30 minutes of the game. Don't let the story treat his causing all this pain and suffering so flippantly, as he is given a divine "thumbs-up" by turning into a kid with his best bud, giggling, and floating away into the light of Kingdom Hearts. What was that? Xehanort deserves better than that. Have him struggle to the end, and have our heroes really counter him—thematically, emotionally, and physically. Have Eraqus usher him away—stubborn to the end. If you want to redeem him, Nomura, you gotta be setting that stuff up WAAAAAY earlier._

 _-Have anyone, anyone, other than Sora also care that Kairi is now missing. Have Riku and Sora go together to find her—because, you know, they're BFFs and have the power to. Preferably explain and make it playable how they do that. Then have the lovely ending with Namine returning and with everyone together (except redeem Isa better). Keep everyone's great new clothes, and have the whole party on the beach—end happily, with everyone (seemingly) together again in satisfied bliss. Wrap up the saga on a cathartic high note, for goodness' sake. Then, and only then, Nomura gets to keep his ending—but in its proper place, separate in our minds from the ending-ending, in which we can feel full satisfaction for 16 years of investment._

 _-In the Epilogue, before going to the Foretellers, show Sora, Kairi, and Riku leaving the Island. Riku and Kairi are on ahead, everything seems happy and complete (maybe they're joking about Sora finally getting his mom's dinner, eh?), when suddenly Sora hears the echo of YX telling him that "there's a cost for it all" and that "it's too late for him"—suddenly, Sora fades away. Show Riku/Kairi reactions -together-. Fade his fading into the dust of the Keyblade Graveyard. Do all the Epilogue. Do the Secret Ending. Whatever nonsense Nomura wants—but for us, the audience, all of us, we FINALLY GET SOLID, CATHARTIC CLOSURE FOR EVERYONE IN THIS SAGA AFTER 16 YEARS—WITHOUT IT ALL BEING TEASER BAIT FOR SOME UNION CROSS/TWEWY CROSSOVER COMBINED WITH NOMURA's DISTURBING AND OBSESSIVE BITTERNESS OVER FFv13! Sorry, also salty about that._

 _-Secret Ending is Riku AND Kairi going together to find Sora in Shibuya. Boom._

 _-Also, for all our sakes, get rid of the concept of worldlines and minimize the time travel/dreaming stuff here, plz. That's the quickest way to undermine the stakes of your story (and why, for as much work as it took, I don't think the "Sleeping Worlds" theory is accurate. It's tempting to try to make meta-sense out of a disappointing story, but…I just think fans are smarter than Kingdom Hearts is. Nomura's writing is, almost inherently, shoddy, sadly)._

 _ **Tl;dr:**_ _Give us more of the characters and their agency, don't have them act OOC for bad plotting, give us a mid-climax to slow down the rushed 3-hour ending, let us appreciate what's happening with more characterization, explain some things better, don't fridge Kairi (and everyone, really), give us a real, cathartic ending for 16 years of investment—then tease us in the epilogue/secret._

 _Thoughts? Too much to ask? Too little? I tried only to fix stuff to keep it in line with what it presently is, to some universally shared criticisms among fans. I'd love to hear your thoughts on this and what you liked/didn't like! Drop a review or PM!_


	15. ACT II: The Afters

_I've really tried over the last two months to stay ahead of these chapters, so there won't be a future slowdown—but jeeze, between finishing graduate school and watching/reading through all of Kaguya-sama: Love is War…I just never quite did it. Man, let me just say, something in that series broke me deep inside—my cute and humor circuits were overwhelmed with delight and I just…I fell down a very deep manga hole. Got very distracted by too many wholesome and cute things. Very hard to focus on anything else, though I'm still trying to pull ahead on this. Please think of me, and wish me well._

 _With that said, let's begin Part II, of which I have six chapters ready to come out bi/tri-weekly, depending on how fast I keep pulling ahead. We'll see.  
~Mars  
_

* * *

 _ **ACT II: IL TRAMONTO**_

 _ **Chapter XV: The Afters  
**_ _We spake of many a vanished scene,  
Of what we once had thought and said,  
Of what had been, and might have been,  
And who was changed, and who was dead;  
And all that fills the hearts of friends,  
When first they feel, with secret pain,  
Their lives thenceforth have separate ends,  
And never can be one again.  
~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow_

Merlin's clock ticked in tandem with the rain upon the roof, as everyone sat in silence. Zack, leaning by the window, watched the thick rivulets run their way down the panes, distorting the gardens and houses outside.

Behind him, the slow puffs from Merlin and his pipe—which Aerith had recently ceased to criticize—were the underlying bass to the rain's treble. Cid lay with legs stretched straight to the floor, on the lounge across from the old wizard, his neck at an angle which Zack thought must be uncomfortable.

Rinoa sat on the hearth, staring deep into the fire, the most peculiar player to the uncharacteristic quiet. Cloud and Tifa sat perfectly equidistant from each other on the final lounge, hands clasped in their laps. Every now and then, Tifa would glance up between Zack, Cloud, and the door.

Aerith was upstairs, tending to Vincent, and pretending that she was unaffected by the news of her mother, diminished as it was in the wake of the attack. She checked on Vincent only every six hours now—otherwise, he still did not speak. In the past week, he had mumbled a few words.

Zack had tried to convince the others, Vincent included, that this all needed to be brought to the Commanders; that they could sort it out. Tifa had revolted immediately to the idea, repeating emphatically that she had found Vincent _inside_ the Bastion.

Zack had argued that there were a lot of people there and equally as many explanations—but when Rinoa, and Squall with her, had sided with Tifa, Zack had known that was the end of it. Even he didn't fully believe what he was arguing—some part of him felt it necessary from allegiance alone. One glare from Vincent's half-swollen eye had been the final nail in the coffin.

Now, all Zack had was to stand around like an unaimed, even unthrown, dart. He had tried to check on Ven—he'd lost his damn father, after all—but no one had answered at the giant monastery door and he'd heard nothing from them.

Aerith, meanwhile, was slow to speak of her mother, expending all her energy on helping recovery efforts instead. Under her ministrations, Vincent had been recovering—but he still was horrifically ragged and scarred.

So what was he supposed to do now? They'd found Vincent beaten half to death in the Castle, for god's sake, Shinra knew something about Aerth's mother, and the whole damn world had just been broken by a few terrorists.

The whole Garden was darkened now—the pain was hardening, it seemed, into some massive longing for vengeance, and an oppressive spirit filled the air, near palpable—it was almost as if the evening's shadows, as they stretched to cover the streets and blanket the town, took on the form of that crushing, frothing, boiling hunger.

And Zack didn't know what to do about it. He felt it, himself, after all.

And so this was all they did. Every day. They would all come back here from work, from recovery, from everything, and sit. And wait.

At least two people remained at the house every day, for Vincent's sake, and they all slept here at night. People didn't go out at night in the Garden anymore; hell, they barely did during the day. They were all exhausted, all scared, all anxious.

Sleep came fitfully on Merlin's floor, for Zack, and he was pretty sure Cloud hadn't really slept at all in days—he sat by the window, all night, eyes as blank saucers. Zack's only comfort came in holding Aerith close and making sure she, at least, could drift peacefully to sleep.

And so they waited, unified in the unknown. The clock chimed out the hour.

With a suddenness that made Tifa jump, and made Cid try to hide that he, too, jumped, Merlin's great oaken door creaked open and the clomp of Squall's boots tracked in from the rain. Pushing back the soaked hair from his eyes, he stoically took in the whole room.

"A new list is out." He said, handing a slightly damp piece of paper to Zack as he walked by to stand by both Rinoa and the fire, "They keep revising it."

Zack nodded, flipping open the multiple pages and scanning the rows of names upon names. He knew the first few sheets by heart by now, which sickened him. Josef Ricard, 24. Leila Scott, 19. Cecil and Rydia Ingus, 26/24. Rosa Palom, 46. Adelbert Steiner, 31. Brina Calca, 77. Leonora Calca, 6.

And on and on it went, scribbled names and ages.

His eyes fell to the dozen or so new lines, just as awful as the scores before them. More bodies finally identified, or news ones succumbed to old injuries. Zack allowed the pain of each, individual and unique, to strike him, to nestle within—ended in dreadful punctuation by one awful, final name:

 _Lucretia Crescent, 22._

"More?" Aerith spoke, a mix of question and announcement, as she noiselessly emerged from upstairs.

Zack nodded, with a pained frown, as he passed the papers down to Cid, "Yeah. And one of them is Lucretia."

Aerith's eyes widened, as she quickly shut the door behind her, "Not so loud!"

"How can one person take anymore!?" Tifa cried, voice breaking as she fell back.

Zack appreciated her care—Vincent had always been on their outskirts, really only known to Zack, but Tifa had developed an attachment to him over the last week; in fact, everyone had. Zack was glad, at least, to not carry his friend alone.

"Someone important to Vincent?" Rinoa murmured, eyes only briefly leaving the fire to look to Aerith for confirmation, before returning, "Hm, so she happened to be there, too…"

"Goddamn," Cid muttered, as he finished looking over the list and tossed it lightly to Merlin, "This is all so f*cked."

Sighing, Zack ran a hand through his hair, "So what can we do? How can we fix this?"

"The better question is: can we fix this?" Merlin asked over the paper and his wide glasses, with an almost unnoticeable glance at Aerith.

"Constraints:" Squall said, arms crossed, "First, we cannot speak with anyone at the Castle about this. Second, Shinra knows Cloud and Tifa took him. This situation is untenable."

"They'll come looking here, eventually." Rinoa affirmed.

"It's only because of the Attack that it has taken them this long." Squall added.

Zack blew out a breath, "I still don't get what we're saying—who knows what? _Who's_ coming? Are we saying the Commanders took Vincent? The Royal Family? Shinra? Is everyone in on it?"

"We're saying we don't know." Rinoa replied. "Whoever it is—whoever is sick enough to do something like this—is among the elite and connected to Shinra. That's what we know for sure."

"I'd wager that young psychopath Shinra brought poor Vincent with him—" Merlin took another puff of his pipe, "I would be hard-pressed to think any of the Royalty would do such a thing!"

"Possible." Squall replied, "But until we know for sure, we can't take any risks."

Zack rubbed his eyes, "So you're still just saying we can't do anything—so tell me, how're we ever going to get more info if we don't do anything? Knowing means doing—"

"I am going to kill Shinra."

The room immediately silenced as all shocked eyes turned to see Vincent Valentine's tall form fill the doorway to the stairs, like a hovering ghost. A black jumpsuit covered his emaciated body, wrapped over with one of Merlin's sweeping red cloaks. His face was still bruised and scarred, with tattered black hair falling aimlessly—but his dark red eyes shone out between the strands like two blazing beacons.

Aerith immediately jumped to her feet—having only finally just sat down, "Vincent! What are you doing?! You shouldn't—you can't be up!"

Vincent, for his part, stayed utterly still as Aerith checked him over again, pressing and testing and taking his temperature. Zack was shocked at the impossibility standing before him—how could he recover this much so quickly? Yet, he also felt some relief, even hope, to see him finally standing on his own two feet.

Immediately, he moved to greet him, barely having registered what he had said, "Vincent! You're—"

"Will you come with me, Aerith?" Vincent continued, sharp eyes falling down upon her; the whole shadow of his form eclipsing her small frame.

Immediately, she froze—as did Zack. Wait. Wait, wait, wait wait—

"We can find your mother." Vincent finished. "They've taken something from both of us."

-wait, wait, wait—was he talking about Lucretia? How could he have heard that—

"You…you could hear me…? I thought you were—" Aerith trembled, "I'm s-sorry, I must have talked your ears off—"

"No." Vincent spoke firmly, his bony fingers grasping her by the shoulders. "You are right to wonder. And you will never stop wondering unless you go."

"What exactly are we talking about?" Squall interrupted, voice low and eyes squinted.

"Yeah, uh, what he said!" Zack added, unsure now of his friend.

"I'm going to kill Rufus Shinra." Vincent repeated, "And I am inviting you to come with me."

"Damn, Vincent! Hehehe—" Cid began to guffaw, deep belly laughs that nearly keeled him over, "hell, I'll go with you to get those cheating bastard who f*cked me over. What do you have in mind?"

Vincent looked down once more at Aerith with what Zack was shocked to believe was full-on compassion, before the ghoul of a man stepped past her and into view of everyone. Zack quickly moved to Aerith, who had silently stepped out from his way, and now was looking off in the opposite distance.

"Staying here accomplishes nothing. The Turks will arrive and kill us all." Vincent spoke without emotion, "Shinra did this and they know you know. It's a simple calculus."

"It's a fool's errand, is what it is." Squall responded, frowning even deeper than normal, "There's no way anyone survives that. Going on the offense half-cocked is about the stupidest thing you could do."

"What do you suppose I've spent my time considering?" Vincent responded.

"Not much, it seems, if this is all you have." Squall's eyes narrowed.

"I mean, maybe we should at least hear him out—?" Tifa began, gesturing for Vincent to continue.

"I'll go." Aerith suddenly announced, and Zack's heart turned cold, "Whatever you have planned—if it can get us into Shinra's labs, I'm in."

Vincent looked over his shoulder and acknowledged her acceptance with a quiet nod. A moment of silence followed, before Zack, Merlin, and Squall all began to talk at once:

"Are you insane?" Squall.

"Aerith—please, think about this—" Merlin.

"No, no, wait, wait, wait—Aerith, talk to me—" Zack.

But Aerith's face firmed, even as she touched Zack gently with an unspoken understanding. "I know this seems crazy, but I—I can't keep going like this. I need to know. And we can't just stay here, either." Aerith turned to look directly at Zack, her eyes already clearly decided, but seeking also some sort of understanding from him, "Something is going to break—and we should be the ones in control when it does."

Zack didn't respond, he simply searched her eyes as the words worked themselves up inside him.

"Aerith…" Merlin's voice shook, "Your mother wouldn't want you to risk yourself like this."

Aerith looked over Zack's shoulder to her father and spoke with words born from a sort of severity not often seen in Aerith: "I wouldn't know."

Merlin immediately fell silent and didn't speak again.

But all Zack could see was the life, the ferocity, returning to her eyes. She saw something satisfying and whole, again—and he wanted to see it, too.

Finally—something to do.

"I…I can't believe I'm saying this, but—" Zack swallowed and shrugged, "Count me in. Let's take the fight to them."

"Of course you're in. I'm surprised you didn't come up with it." Squall muttered, turning to Rinoa for some kind of support—but as soon as he did, he began to shake his head, "No, don't do this—"

Rinoa sighed, poking at the fire's trembling light, "Aerith needs answers. We all need answers. Shinra has them. Any chance of staying out of this ended a week ago. We're in too deep, now."

Squall breathed in, and the air hissed out through his nose. "Am I the only one who hasn't lost their mind?"

Cloud suddenly raised his arm, eyes flickering to Zack and Aerith—but he offered no defense for taking Squall's side. As everyone waited for him to, he simply stood up and with one, final lingering glance, especially upon Aerith, whispered "be careful" and vanished up to his room.

Squall shook his head again, turning back to Rinoa, "I won't go with you. You can't go."

"Aerith needs me." Rinoa said quietly without looking up, "How can you ask me not to go?"

Squall, with another deep, regulated breath and survey of the room, nodded briefly and walked back out into the rain. In the echoes of the slammed door, no one spoke. Rinoa finally broke the silence with a weak smile, "He'll be alright. When we get back."

Unable to hold it back anymore, Cid started chuckling again, "F*ck yeah, are we really talking about breaking into Shinra?"

"Yes." Came a chorused response from Aerith, Vincent, Zack, and Rinoa. Merlin was quiet, and Tifa looked worried.

"So tell us your plan, Vincent." Aerith insisting, pulling Zack to sit beside her, next to Cid.

Vincent nodded, "There is only one step missing—I know where to go, but not yet how. I supposed—" his eyes slid over the Cid, who slapped his knee and belted out another round of laughter.

"Hell yes! I could break through their security seven ways from Sunday—I knew my sh*t then, and I still do now." He flicked his nose with a grin, "Piece of cake."

"Perfect." Vincent nodded, eyes gleaming, as he presented, terse and efficient, how they were to break into Shinra, find Aerith's mother and, with her, criminal evidence to bring before the Bastion.

* * *

"Are you alright, Ienzo?" Aeleus asked, as he signed yet another requisition for yet another Shinra arms deal, sending a servant scurrying away with a finalized stack of papers.

Ienzo watched him flee and another arrive, mulling over what his answer should be. The people and nobles were demanding more and more protection in the wake of the Attack, requiring a more active presence of the PKF in the streets and on the walls. The people needed to be made to feel safe again.

Ienzo knew all that—but, at this point, he couldn't help but feel like they were playing around with symptoms. The people lived in a world they did not understand, subject to forces beyond their control—that was the true source of their fear and what they truly needed protection from. No amount of requisitions could change that—only the experiments could.

But how could he explain that to Aeleus? It was impossible. He still lived in the old world.

And so Ienzo did what he had become so used to—he lied; he lied to dear, caring Aeleus, who simply sought only the wellbeing of his youngest brother.

Ienzo still remembered the first he had to do so—lying to Aeleus about having been studying, when he had actually been at Xehanort's side in the basement. That moment had left a scar which hadn't healed, and, somehow, it was just as hard now as it was then to look Aeleus in his troubled eyes and tell his falsehoods.

"I worry, brother, is all. I don't want to labor under an illusion of security created falsely from all these orders—if, indeed, we are no safer than we were yesterday."

Aeleus nodded, "True—but the image is half of the fight. If the public feels safer, they will be safer." Aeleus turned to another pile of papers, as Ienzo watched over his shoulder, "Less fear becomes less crime, less anxiety, and more regularity. Meanwhile, we work."

Ienzo nodded absently. At one point, that might have been the opening of a lively discussion shared between them about pragmatism versus idealism, and what truly made a good society. Yes, once upon a time, their discussions of political science had been a joy for Ienzo, nay, they had been formative for his very being.

It seemed so long, now, since when Aeleus had been Ienzo's idol of a brother. Braig was annoying and troublesome, Dilan had always been emotionally distant, and Even had always been a rival—but Aeleus had always been a true brother.

It had been Aeleus who taught Ienzo how to spell, it had been Aeleus who read with him after Ansem's classes when all his brothers, too old for him, had run off to engage in other teenaged shenanigans without him. Aeleus had walked him about the Garden, explaining how it functioned in all his effective brevity, Aeleus had proofread his first papers, and Aeleus had been the one to sit with him after Braig had broken the news to him, in thoughtless jest, that they weren't all really family and that Ienzo had been an orphan.

But that time had somehow receded far into the past. Over the unnoticed illusions of time, Ienzo had found himself grown further and further away from Aeleus and ever-more into the shadow of Xehanort's seemingly endless and infectiously mysterious quest—even back to that first night, only a child, when Xehanort had appeared from the snow and ushered in a whole new way of being to the Bastion.

And worst of all, most painful to Ienzo, was the fact that Aeleus—kind, thoughtful Aeleus—didn't seem to realize it. And so, both for the sake of the mission as well as his heart, Ienzo lied. Even were the basement laboratory not to have ever existed, Ienzo knew he would've kept up this illusion. He couldn't bear to see Aeleus wounded by the truth of what had truly changed.

Reminding himself that he needed to appear attentive, lest Aeleus inquire again to his wellbeing, Ienzo turned his attention to leafing through another pile of reports—only to nearly drop them when a ghost seemed to float past the doorway, outside the study, and pass down the hall.

"Was that…was that Xehanort?" Aeleus asked, himself paying no more attention to the tasks in front of him.

"Yes, yes, I do believe it was." Ienzo replied, starting to move around the broad table.

"I haven't seen him in a week—" Aeleus said, shaking his head, "I hadn't even thought of it—there's been so much work…"

Ienzo nodded, brain at a rush underneath his confused brow, "None of us have really seen him, either. You keep working here—I'll go see what he has been up to."

Aeleus thought for a moment before nodding, and turned back to the paperwork ahead of him. Ienzo, for his part, tried not to rush too hurriedly from the room—but as soon as he was out of Aeleus' sight, he nearly stumbling in dashing down to catch up with the wandering form of Xehanort.

Quite literally, no one had seen him all week and while Ansem in his business hadn't noticed quite yet, the rest of them were starting to become frantic over his absence.

"Xehanort—Xehanort!" Ienzo hid a shout within a whisper, as he reached to grab his brother's arm, "Where have you been?"

Stopping, Xehanort allowed himself to be turned, surprising Ienzo with what little effort it took. Xehanort himself seemed to be in a daze, his eyes unfocused, his gait having been little more than a wander, now that Ienzo thought about it. Had Xehanort just been _wandering_ about this whole time?

"Ah, ah…Ienzo…" Xehanort murmured, eyes training on him, "I…I have had the most magnificent breakthrough. It worked. I found…I found my way in—and it was beautiful."

A slight chill swept through Ienzo at the preternatural moment. Xehanort had always been somewhat eccentric, at times found wandering the darkened halls of the castle, half-asleep, during the night. He himself had observed Xehanort staring at one point, one book, one page, for hours at a time—only to reawaken to the world with a marvelous insight. But this seemed different—Xehanort seemed almost….intoxicated?

"Xehanort, have you…" Ienzo frowned, noticing for the first time, in the cloudy afternoon light that shown into the hall, his brother's bloodshot eyes and rumpled clothing, "Xehanort, have you slept?"

Xehanort blinked, "No, no, I don't believe so."

Ienzo began to wonder if perhaps the stress of the Attack, coupled with the experiments, had finally gotten to him. But suddenly, clarity fell upon Xehanort's eyes and he grasped Ienzo's shoulders with the full charisma and confidence of the brother who had supplanted him as Ansem's favored successor: "Oh, Ienzo—you have to see it. It may only yet be a sliver, but it is indescribable, incalculable—"

"What are you talking about—" Ienzo whispered, glancing over his shoulder to ensure Aeleus hadn't wandered out after him.

But Xehanort gently grasped Ienzo by the head and brought his gaze back to meet his own, and there resided the same fierceness and focus that had infected Ienzo years ago—"I'm talking about the Heart of the World. I'm talking about the Answer."

"Oi!" Dilan's brusk voice suddenly resounded in both their ears, "Ienzo, where did you find this absentee son?"

"I have been attending to the more important things, Dilan." Xehanort responded, standing straight and righting his rumpled white coat, answering for Ienzo who remained in shocking, processing, silence.

"Come now. You both need to see what I have discovered." Xehanort continued, brushing past and expecting them to follow. Ienzo did so unthinkingly, trying to understand what Xehanort had just revealed to him. Dilan, however, had to speak as they tracked down the halls of the Bastion.

"I've been trying to find you, Xehanort. We need to speak about our two…" he paused, "thieves."

Xehanort didn't respond, but a gesture of the hand indicated that he was listening.

"The boy's name is Cloud Strife. The girl must be a friend of his. He's a low-level recruit for the PKF, just returned from the frontiers. We are working to locate him or his partner now, but in the meantime, we need to decide what to do with him—"

"We can't eliminate him." Xehanort murmured back. "We can't afford any more attention now. Not anymore."

"Why draw the line here?" Dilan pushed back, as they passed finally through the last few doors before the Great Library, "It seems rather arbitrary, don't you think?"

Xehanort finally turned and, with a slight smirk, pushed through the great doors into the library, "But we have never been at such a delicate stage before. We shall do something, but it cannot be as it has been before."

Dilan was about to respond, when Even's nasally voice intervened.

"Xehanort? I had hoped you might be dead." He frowned, standing up from the table where he had been reading. "I would apologize for not looking for you, but I wouldn't mean it."

"Oh, Even…" Xehanort took him by the shoulders and directed him toward the secret gravira elevator, "Your pettiness shall be embarrassingly pointless, soon."

"Where—where are we going?" Even cried out, nearly dropping his book as Xehanort shuffled him along. No one bothered to answer him.

"What about Braig?" Dilan asked.

"We'll tell him later." Ienzo answered, unwilling to wait anymore.

With an agreeable nod, Xehanort activated the elevator and they all slipped in and began the descent. All was quiet and still, except the whir of the machinery and the hum of the magical field. With a slight bump, it all came to a stop.

As the doors slid open, at first, Ienzo saw nothing out of place—the sterile white walls, the bolted down tables, the stacks of reports, all was in its proper place. But, Xehanort seemed almost to float forward, so lightly yet firmly did he move, until his hands were pressed up against the glass of the Heartless' cage.

Dilan scoffed as he stepped out second, followed by Ienzo and Even, "Xehanort, if the pressure has finally gotten to you—"

"Is that a door?" Even murmured, his whole form frozen, as his eyes flicked to his younger brother for confirmation—a shocking first for Ienzo, worth noting more if he was not already frozen himself, wide-eyed, turned stiff by the chill than ran down his spine.

There was a door. Inside the enclosure.

Rounded and gold-trimmed, there stood, quite simply, a seemingly wooden door, against the far wall.

"Impossible…" Dilan's mouth worked up and down, but no further sound emerged.

Breaking from his shock, heart now racing, Ienzo stumbled forward and nearly fell against the glass beside Xehanort, who didn't seem to move at all—except for the ever-so-slight caress of his fingers against the glass.

Inside, the Heartless stood organized, for the first time, all crowded in a semi-circle around the door. Their antennae still twitched and their bodies swayed arrhythmically, but their beady yellow eyes remained unfailingly fixed upon the door. Ienzo immediately began to categorize, his jumbled thoughts coming frustratingly slow. A shift in reality? A change in their behavior? This was utterly unprecedented.

"Was there an antecedent cause of any kind?" Even spoke breathily from behind them, fumbling with a pen and clipboard.

"No…" Xehanort nearly whispered, "It was just there and I…entered."

"You went in there?! With them?!" Dilan exclaimed, coming to stand beside the glass, too, "how the hell are you still alive?"

"No, no…" Xehanort shook his head slowly, "I suppose, yes, I did—but it was…in there…"

Ienzo froze again as he followed back Xehanort's misty gaze.

"Xehanort…" Ienzo found himself whispering, "Are you saying you went inside that door?"

"Of course, Ienzo."

"That's preposterous!" Even shouted in a whisper, though his voice shook as evidence of his ill-confidence, "Not only did you not get devoured, but you entered through a locked door—Xehanort, I worry you are becoming unreliab—"

"Locked…?" Xehanort murmured, a question.

Ienzo frowned and looked back through the enclosure, over the awful twitching heads of those dark beasts, and sure enough—noted by that infuriating eye of Even, ever always upon each detail—a pure-black keyhole was cut in the off-right center of the door, approximately four inches tall and one and half wide at its base.

"Did the door come with a key?" Even pressed, said in such a way that his earnest attempt at more information came across, in typical Even fashion, as a mockery.

"No…no, I was just…let in…" Xehanort murmured, his fingers having ceased their caresses upon the glass.

"And what was inside?" Ienzo asked, still in a whisper, "Xehanort, what was inside?"

"I—I…" Xehanort's firmness suddenly crumbled and it was as if he took possession of himself again. Standing straight, he brushed at his coat, "I don't recall, unfortunately, but it was something of immense significance."

Dilan sighed, eyes still flickering with suspicion toward the door, "Marvelous—another answer forgotten before we even knew it."

"Well, what're we to do now?" Even asked, still scribbling with a fury.

Ienzo's eyes fell back to that still door, so entrancing to those mindlessly stirring creatures below—mesmerized, it seemed; gathered around it as if in some cultic Wutain ritual he had heard of.

"It's obvious, don't think you, Even?" Xehanort responded, blinking slowly, "We need a Key."

* * *

 _A/N: Throughout the entirety of Part II of this tale (perhaps another 15 chapters?), each chapter will be titled after, in honor of, a favorite, truly superlative, Kingdom Hearts fanfiction here on the site. Slight strands, perhaps only in my own imagination, connect them. But these works were very meaningful to me, and I wanted to honor them somehow. You should read them—they can be found under my favorites list._

 _Don't forget to leave a review, favorite, or alert—there and here!_


	16. Shadows of a Dream

_**.**_

 _ **Chapter XVI: Shadows of a Dream  
**_ _There is no such thing as a painless lesson;  
you can't gain anything  
without losing something first.  
~Full-Metal Alchemist_

Radiant Garden had, in more ancient days, been built up in seven tiers, echoing a waterfall in their ridged descent: the districts, circled around Hollow Bastion, each with an uphill path all-its-own that ascended, in equal access, to the castle itself at the center of it all.

Through long atrophy of time and corruption the more elite tended to live in the highest districts, amidst the culture-centers of Six and the mansions of Seven, which could look out nearly over the great walls and down upon the more terrestrial districts below—populated mostly amidst the slums of One, and the more middling homes of Two and Three, with Four and Five filled mostly with industry and commerce.

Yet, there were a few who lived outside the walls. Travelers camped on long journeys, eccentrics lived in small huts, and some caravans would even built up temporary shanties for a time—but there were few permanent buildings outside the walls. Only the winding track of the train broke the landscape of broad, green plains and little pockets of trees, as it ascended up to be received through the wall at the Fourth District, halfway up the city and high enough from the ground that the great hole carved through the wall could not weaken the defenses.

The unfortunate side effect of the train being, of course, that the lowest districts were cut-off, even more, from the lifeblood of the city.

Farther along away from the city, close to the dark-blue rock of the canyons that carved a long scar into the earth that zigzagged away into the horizon, there stood a few guard towers, holdovers from the days of the Horned King, which kept watch over the deep parts of the canyons that could not be seen from the walls; small, thin, rods keeping watch over the quiet air.

And as Zack adjusted his Shinra-issued helmet—essentially PKF standard, with a few adjustments—he wished there was more cover out here, rather than just the exceptionally gorgeous, near-endless, countryside.

"Are you sure they won't notice us?" Zack asked again, peaking out through the cover of the wagon, back up toward the top of the walls and the small, black specks that patrolled them.

"Transports constantly enter and leave the Garden," Vincent responded, his face likely implacable under his dark helmet, which dropped a black visor over the face.

"But since the Attack—"

Rinoa shook her own covered head, "They all care a lot more about what's going in, than what's going out."

"But they _will_ notice if you keep poking your head out to look around!" Aerith chided, glancing over her shoulder from where she sat up from with Cid, who guided the horses. She was the only one without Shinra's standard dark blue fatigues, with metal knee and shoulder pads. Instead, she wore the white lab coat of a technician, over a simple blouse and skirt.

Cid chuckled from beside her, "Aw, ain't nobody gonna notice nothin'—not with my beautiful uniforms finally serving a good purpose!"

"About that—" Rinoa started, one finger raised, "The, ah, smell—"

"Head for the second watchtower." Vincent interrupted, leaning forward to point a long finger out past Cid.

"A'ight," Cid replied, turning the horses slightly, as they closed in on the first, "Why that one, eh?"

"It's the only one manned." Vincent responded, sitting back, "Why do you suppose that is?"

"The PKF lets Shinra man its posts?" Zack asked, with rather a bit more incredulity than he intended to betray.

Rinoa responded this time, tipping back her helmet to breathe, "Shinra's contracts net them all sorts of special benefits."

"We're only the next shift." Vincent continued in his ever-monotone, sitting as stiff and unmoving in Cid's old suits as he would in anything else, "They won't realize until it's too late that there wasn't supposed to be one."

"And getting out?" Zack continued, "You still haven't—"

"Shinra is everywhere." Vincent interrupted, "Like an infection coursing under the surface. There will be a way out."

Zack nodded, trying both to trust Vincent and hold a healthy skepticism, both kept alive by the explosive excitement that had long ago set his foot tapping and kept his worry for Aerith at bay.

"Hey! Ah, greetins'!" Cid suddenly called, waving his arm as they approached the guardtower. Within the wagon's canopy, Zack instinctively ducked low, as Vincent slid his triple-barreled revolver from its holster and leaned forward to shoot over Cid's shoulder.

With stealthful grace, however, Rinoa slid forward and grabbed the gun by the hammer and gently pushing it down.

"No killing." She mouthed in the barest of whispers, accompanied by a rueful smile, as Vincent narrowed his eyes, "Besides, it's more fun this way, right?"

Zack watched as, without even so much as a creak, Rinoa lighted her out the back of the wagon, giving one little wave on her way out of sight. He couldn't help but return a thumbs-up, even as Vincent merely sat back stoically.

"It's how Rin is." Zack mouthed with a shrug, "eye-for-an-eye, everyone's blind, and all that."

"Ah, yeah, the boss ordered another lab rat along, y'know—" Cid had continued mumbling, as the guard raised his voice, asking for identification.

Vincent's frown shifted and he raised his revolver again— and Zack didn't try to stop him. This, not because he knew it'd be a loud struggle or because he wasn't totally on board with Rinoa's program (after all, at some point, death had to be necessary, right? For good?), no—

No, he didn't stop Vincent because he knew Rinoa would be faster.

And just before Vincent could even finishing aiming, there came a slight gasp, a little pop, and precisely two seconds of struggle—a brief, effective play that earned a little clap from Aerith and Cid's admiring whistle

"Whoo—ee! Not bad, little lady."

Gesturing for Vincent to follow, Zack popped his head out the front. The guard lay crumpled in Rinoa's arms, releasing one final groan as Rinoa rolled him over to tie his arms.

"You said there were two of them?" she asked, looking up with a smile from under her dark visor. Vincent only nodded—most security had been drawn back into the city after the Attack.

Finishing the tie and stuffing the guard's mouth, Rinoa unhooked her blaster edge from behind her back and started to move toward the tower—open on the bottom, with only a winding staircase that disappeared inside a single metal plated enclosure that opened to the air around the top edge.

"Just give it a second." Zack encouraged the others, as he climbed down from the wagon and offered Aerith a hand, gesturing to watch Rinoa as she vanished up the cheap, metal stairs inside.

Five seconds passed, then ten. Vincent began moving for the tower.

"Shouldn't we—" Cid murmured, jerking his thumb to follow, as Aerith looked worried, and Zack lifted the guard's unconscious form into wagon.

Zack sighed, and opened his mouth to respond, but Rinoa's unhelmeted head popped up over the open edge of the enclosure, "There were _three_ , Mr. Valentine!"

Vincent didn't respond, only grunted and entered the tower himself, as Rinoa continued to shout, "And because of that, _you_ have to carry them out!"

"See, I told you—" Zack nodded, inspired by Rinoa's efficiency and artistry. "She's the best in the biz'!"

Taking one final glance around to be sure that no one was in view—and none were, for the last camper they had passed was a quite ways back, and the walls were so far you could not longer see their base—Zack tossed the guard unceremoniously into the back of the wagon and, wiping his hands, turned to see Aerith already halfway up the rickety stairwell and dashed to follow her.

Inside, the small tower was cramped—especially with the three unconscious guards tied up in a corner. Sensitive banks of flashing radio equipment covered the walls, hooked by enormous wires up to a spiraling antennae on the roof, though nothing nearly so complex as the advanced system that the Lord Protector was rumored to keep in the Bastion's basement.

Rinoa welcomed Vincent with a sweeping bow, "All yours!"

With a grunt, Vincent finally holstered his revolver and stepped forward to stand over the long panel of, what seemed to Zack, far too many buttons and levers for one tiny guardpost—and with a few pulls and pushes from Vincent, Zack found is suspicion confirmed: a low grumbling rose from below the tower and, without fanfare or introduction, Vincent turned and walked out:

"Let's go."

* * *

Squall hated this plan. And he hated every damn second that passed, as he knew each one was a point at which the offensively stupid plan could go wrong and _he wouldn't be there._

Of course, even after he had left in protest, he had made Rinoa tell him the entire plan, so he could rightfully, once again, call it foolhardy and plead his case to stop her from going.

It was his battle to win—of all their arguments, here, he had the strongest ground. He knew it. Rinoa knew it. They both knew it.

He'd pulled out all the stops, he noted in numeric order all the risks, every step where it could go wrong.

She'd merely responded with an accepting nod.

He'd pointed out that under other circumstances, she'd hate even the idea of this plan—Vincent was a smart and capable man, but any plan born of revenge and aimed at assassination was something shouldn't trust, in fact, she should despise it.

She'd agreed, on all accounts. She didn't trust it, nor did she approve.

He'd pointed out that it endangered everything, all her precious freedom, all her peace, all the things she still had yet to see—it endangered everything.

She'd only reminded him that living at all was a danger; that there was no freedom without risk.

But why, he had asked, why risk so much?

She'd asked him then if he had followed all of Aerith's little movements. Had he noticed how all her plants were nearly being drowned? Had he noted the absence of even a single speck of dust amidst the whole house? Had he noticed that all his books had been re-order alphabetically?

And much to his annoyance, Squall had been forced to admit that, no, he had not noticed all these things.

Rinoa had nodded—it was for that person that she was doing this. Aerith needed answers. Aerith deserved answers. And Vincent's plan, as unfortunately born and aimed as it was, was the best way to get those answers.

And Squall knew then he couldn't argue. For Rinoa, it was love and risk and freedom all tied up—and, for her, there was nothing else worthwhile to be had, in all of life.

And so here he was: instead of any of the many protests he had planned, Squall found himself standing outside the PKF Communications Hub, bustling with activity on the first floors of the Bastion, emerging from the underground and beginning to rise to the level of the second district.

He was waiting. Waiting to catch when one of those stupid steps of that stupid plan stupidly failed.

Inevitably, it would come through here, where all reports of public safety came. It would give him some warning; direct him on where to go and bail his friends out.

And that was when it happened. A young cadet suddenly stood up from his PHS station, one of a dozen in this stone room warmed by the Fira light, and scribbled a quick note before dashing for exit.

With a practiced normalcy, Squall stepped in his way and allowed the young man to smash himself into his shoulder, sending him flailing down to the floor with a crash.

Squall frowned, even more than he already was planning to—how weak did they send them out of the academy these days?

"Where are you going in such a hurry, young man?" Squall asked, reaching down to take the boy's arm as the others nearby turned back to their work.

"S-sir—" the man noticed Squall's insignias, "L-Lieutenant, one of the Shinra sub-contractors in Guardpost #2 did not perform their quarterly check-in, sir."

Squall nodded seriously, as the young man shook—perhaps he thought he was in the process of saving the Garden from another attack?

"Very good, Cadet." Squall affirmed, taking the small paper from his hand, "I'll get a unit out to check in."

The man didn't fight him, but nor did he immediately turn back to his desk.

"And I'll ensure that your attention to detail makes it into your record, soldier." Squall added, turning away.

"T-Thank you, sir!" came the reply, the salute, and the dash back to his desk.

Squall shook his head at such a typical glory-seekers, as he quietly left the room, burning the paper to ash in his gloved hand with a spark of fire magic—why were they all just clones of Zack?

* * *

"Are you sh*ttin' me?!" Cid exclaimed, his voice echoing about the enormous bay, "Are you goddamn sh*ttin' me? These are my f*cking designs! This is my damn hangar!"

Zack had to stare in awe, appreciative of Cid's frustration: the facility they entered beneath the guardhouse was enormous. At one far end, two great doors seemed to open to the outsid—most likely into the canyon itself, based on where they stood. On the other, the great space faded back into darkness of tunnels, all strung up with fira lights as if it were an empty street under night construction.

In between, great pillars held up the roof, with space enough between their two rows for a craft as wide as a train car was long. Great grooves were etched into the concrete floor, marked with gravira magic and charms, while in the background, some distant rumble constantly hummed.

"The space program continued long after you left." Vincent spoke quietly, as he strode toward the tunnels, the rest falling in to follow him even as they marveled at the enormity of the cave.

"Did they ever…?" Cid's voice dropped, even to an uncharacteristic whisper.

Vincent responded without looking back, "Does this hangar appear used?"

"Right, right…" Cid murmured, "Still, they get all my work, and alls I get is a lousy barn…" before glancing, with slight apology, back at Aerith, "But, hey, a barn's sweet, too."

"So Shinra's really dug all this under the Garden?" Zack asked, hand glazing the smooth walls of the perfectly carved tunnels.

Vincent didn't look back, "Some they found, some they built."

Aerith spoke, for the first time in a long while, pulling her white coat tighter around herself, "Found?"

"The Cauldron Wars." Vincent responded, "Though some Shinra determined to be…quite a bit older."

"So they really have that much dough…" Zack replied at no one in particular, voice caught between fascination and bewilderment.

"Power and war will make you rich." Rinoa murmured, "Basically all PKF equipment comes from them, you know."

"Well, sure, some of it—" Zack started, hefting the sword hanging from his back, "But some of us are unique! Like Angeal and the Tsurugi here—"

Vincent interrupted him, "Check the base, under the hilt."

Though certain that there was nothing new to learn about the sword after the dozens of hours he had spent cleaning it, Zack hesitantly pulled it down from his shoulder and glanced over the guard, lit by the flickering fira of the tunnel.

There, sure enough, just under the hilt, was a small ring of numbers: _4815._

A serial number?! How had he not noticed that before? Had he not been looking?

"Ah, well…" he muttered, shouldering the weapon again, "that's new. But it doesn't matter where it came from—it's what you do with it!"

"Right. Fight the bad guys." Vincent said, in a tone as cold as the blue-marbled stone that was becoming ever more visible the deeper they walked.

"So just finish off all the fightin', eh?" Cid whistled as he fingers still traced the walls, "That'd cost Shinra a pretty penny."

"Why do you think they'd ever allow that to happen?" Vincent continued, eyes straight ahead

"Eh? Where the f*ck's your conscience!" Cid exclaimed, marching up beside him.

"When you're only a small cog, any job is easy." Came Vincent's response, "Even those two guards had no idea the secret they were protecting."

With that, the walk descended into reflective silence. In the distance, far beyond the broadening walls, the rumble clarified itself—the pouring water of the aquifers that fed the Garden's waterfalls and rivers, and the massive pumps that moved it all.

Pipes had begun to appear overhead, crossing and criss-crossing in large and small, carrying water from ancient underground wells to end up in some grand fountain in the Eight district, or the tiny tap of some house in the Second: all around them ebbed and flowed the veritable ocean under Radiant Garden.

Their quiet march continued only a little while more, before Vincent raised a hand to beckon they all stop. Before them, the tunnel came to a close at a tall metal door, pristine against the stone, with a broad locking mechanism attached into the mechanics of the wall beside it.

"Cid?" Vincent beckoned forward.

Cracking his knuckles, the engineer pulled up his visor and leaned his own long spear against the wall, allowing him to crouch before the mechanism and begin pulling little tools from his belt, "I'll have this done quicker than a virgin on his first night!"

Snorting, Zack felt the anxious tingling carry up his legs at being forced to stand still. Glancing around for a distraction, the rumbling mixed with Cid's tinkering reminded Zack how quiet Aerith had been this whole time, now just standing alone with her hands stuffed uncomfortably in the small pockets of her white coat.

"Hey, how're you doing?" he asked in a low voice, moving to stand more closely beside her.

"Good, actually." Aerith responding, voice confident. He had expected an inviting 'fine' or an unsure 'alright', but Aerith seemed…resolute?

"Oh?" Zack added, unsure of what her confidence left for him.

"Yes." Aerith nodded, "We're going to find the truth."

"Have you…" Zack paused briefly, "what if he was just lying?"

Aerith nodded, "Of course I thought about that." Her eyes finally turned to him in earnesty, "I've thought about _nothing else_."

Zack nodded—he understood, "and if he is?"

"Then like I said, I'll know the truth." Aerith nodded again, in that slight and repeated way that seemed to affirm herself, "But Merlin's story tells me that it's true. There's something special about my mother." She paused again, speaking quieter, "There's something special about me."

Zack frowned, gently turning her head back to him, "Aerith, even if there isn't, there is. Always has been."

She didn't respond. Only her eyes searched his until Cid muttered, "F*ck yeah."

Turning back to the work at hand, Zack saw that Cid had dissembled the whole blinking mechanism from the wall, letting it simply fall from the door and into several pieces at Cid's feet. Chuckling, he restored his visor and spear with a smile, "We're in real deep sh*t now."

"Beyond this door is the final basement level of Shinra, just above the Sensitive Projects division." Vincent's hard, red eyes gazed over each of them, "One mistake will doom us all. Soldier don't talk. Aerith keeps it to a minimum."

"And an elevator to the President's office is on that floor, too?" Rinoa inquired.

"Yes." Vincent's eyes fell on her, nearly shining in the shadows, "Will you stop me?"

Rinoa smirked from under her visor, "Not yet. I'm here for Aerith's mother."

Vincent held her gaze for another moment before turning away, "Keep to the plan."

And with that, he opened the tall door. Zack stood a little straighter, Aerith hung a little closer, Rinoa cracked her knuckles, and Cid and Vincent marched forward, leading them into the light.

Inside, the floor was no longer stone, but metal slats—like the shiny scaffolding that would be set up to repair parts of the Bastion—creating the illusion that they were walking over an endless pit of pipes and wires and engines beneath them.

This was only encouraged by the sense that they were walking amidst a jungle of the stuff—little carved-out paths amidst great canopies of piping, steam and whirring mechanics. A white-noise of clicks and hissing filled the air, as the group took stock of the long hallway they had entered into, which wandered into multiple branching paths through the 'forest'.

Vincent, ever-himself, immediately strode forward without looking back, and the rest followed, trying their best not to look surprised or even at all interested, in the bizarre new world they had entered.

It was only within a few minutes of leaving the door behind them that the first Shinra employees appeared—white-smocked scientists with clipboards, some clicking away at panels, others marching in and out of side rooms from which Zack could hear small, muffled explosions emerge.

Some nodded an acknowledgement at the group. Zack considered returning a small nod, but Aerith would beat him too it—without fail greeting every passing person with a friendly "good morning!" and brief small talk about the weather or their appearance—and, somehow, it worked. But Zack found himself troubled.

Not for the same reason that it almost certainly troubled Vincent, who would be disturbed that such small kindnesses were working, but because Zack could tell that Aerith was faking what normally came naturally to her. She didn't mean the good-mornings. Her smile didn't upturn in the same way. The small talk was cut short, even as it probably seemed more than abundant to most of her interlocutors.

And Aerith never faked anything.

This only affirmed the increasingly heart-pounding sense of surrealism that plagued him—here they were, in the heart of Shinra, surrounded by enemies and discoverable at any moment, with Aerith pretending to be nice. Was this the real world? Or had they been transported into some alternate dimension?

Suddenly, the soldier uniform felt tight and hot; sweltering.

Suddenly, Zack, with sweating hands and unsteady breathing, found himself _heavily_ questioning the plan.

But, then again, his racing pulse and pumping adrenaline lent a spring to his step that he was addicted to, even as his whole being tensed into a paradox of nerves and excitement, making him wish he could pump out a few squats right then and there.

But Zack knew he could show no response—Aerith nudged him at even the slightest start of a tapping foot or twitching finger. He had to be like Vincent, who would only occasionally stop, when the passers-by thinned out, gaze about, and lean against the wall as if testing it with his hand, before moving on through the maze of paths.

Speaking of passers-by, they were becoming less and less commom. The side rooms for testing and development were becoming harder and harder to come by, even as the thickness of the wiring and machinery seemed to close in ever-more oppressively.

As their present hallway came to a sharp turn, Vincent nodded slightly at one final door—their escape point, which would deposit them, through many tunnels and some tight squeezes, out into either the sewers or one of the many water processors under the Garden. Zack prayed again it would be the latter.

Turning the corner beyond it, the metal path beneath them began to slant down until it reached a sudden stop at another metal door, larger than all the previous, locked all up and down its side with thick bolts. The piping and wires and other bronzed machinery continued on and disappeared beyond it.

And unfortunately, two guards stood there, too, one on each side, ready to receive them.

The demand was immediate: "Identification-"

But before he could barely finish the word, Rinoa's blaster edge was out and two quiet, _thwumping_ shots were fired. Each connected in the abdomen, causing both guards to keel over.

Rinoa and Vincent were both blurs—each with a few strikes, and Rinoa with a knee, ushered both guards into unconsciousness. Vincent beckoned Cid forward as Zack dashed back to the turn in the hall to see if anyone was coming their way.

No one, he mouthed, shaking his haed.

Good, good. This was going pretty good so far, all things considered. He was still sweating as all hell, though, and the excitement was only increasing. By the end of the near ten minutes it took for Cid to crack the locks, Zack felt like he had worked a whole day; wasted by exhaustion. But still, no one had discovered them.

As the metal door swung open, Zack retreated with the others, dragging the two unconscious guards into a dark, gravira elevator. Vincent seem unsurprised, and so Zack tried his best to appear so as well, even as the great door fell shut behind them and plunged the whole thing into darkness—which then dropped out entirely beneath them. Everyone stumbled and bumped against each other, except seemingly Vincent, whose voice remained steady from within the darkness.

"Be prepared for anything."

The whirring of the elevator continued, deeper and deeper, getting ever more rickety and grinding, as if it had been built hastily, or around something previously hidden in the blue-rocked earth. The air had become thick and the smell rotted. As the elevator slowed, everyone still in darkness, Zack found Aerith's hand in his—to which he gave an encouraging squeeze, as much for himself as for her.

All at once, the elevator came to stop and no one, it seemed, dared even to breathe.

But then Vincent pulled the creaky doors open and the whole, small square was blinded by a blistering brightness that nearly burned their eyes. Rinoa and Zack reacted out of habit and ducked back into cover around the edges, pulling Aerith and Cid, swearing prolifically, with them.

"Don't shoot." came Vincent's voice, sounding as if he was stepping off the elevator and into whatever lay beyond. How had he not been blinded, Zack wondered?

After a moment, with no attack or obvious danger, they all found their eyes adjusting and Zack moved forward first, after Vincent, to examine what level of hell they had snuck their way into.

Some sort of extreme fira seemed to be burning far above to fill the room with light, made worse by the pure white which made it appear to be alight of its own internal illumination. The whole thing widened out from the elevator like a diamond, only to meet in a long hallway on the other side.

Sword raised, Zack beckoned forward as he saw no obvious threats. Vincent seemed to agree—the only things in the room were doors. On the walls branching out from beside them, tall silver doors were all chained shut with thick, heavy steel wrapped across each, four in total. Rinoa was already trying to look through them, with little luck—no windows, and no knobs—they might as well have been fakes, carved into the sheer, sterile metal walls.

"These…these are surgical theaters…" Aerith whispered, her voice one thin note from where she had wandered, across the room.

"Holy—" escaped from Zack's lips as he rushed to stand beside her, outside one of another four opposite doors. Inside were small rectangles, the size of a bedroom, each holding a single chair with metal straps hanging open for the arms and legs. The walls were covered with shelving, holding chisels and syringes and hammers; scalpels, and spreaders and a dozen other things that Zack wasn't even sure Aerith could recognize.

"What…were they going here…?" Aerith mumbled, green eyes wide and transfixed.

With terrible certainty, Zack knew he had found at least one of the answers he had been looking for, "Banon was right. This is what he was talking about. Experiment." He bit out the last part through gritted teeth, "Human experiments."

Banon, that terrified, crazy man, had been right. Shinra had been doing unspeakable things. Right here. Under their noses. Under the Garden. He had been right.

And he had been murdered for it.

"Oh, god…" Rinoa's bit-out gasp echoed around the room, as everyone stumbled to look with her into the final of the surgical rooms.

"What the goddamn f*cking f*ck—" Cid hacked first and turned away to vomit, even as Zack felt the bile rise in him as well, mixed with deep wells of rage that made his fists clench. Aerith, somewhat accustomed by her work, looked on with her hand over her mouth and a tremble to her form, as Rinoa finally turned away, shaking her head, eyes dark.

The fourth theater was covered in dried, crusted blood, mixed together with fluids Zack couldn't even begin to discern. Tools lay scattered about, in puddles still wet, as jars of unknown yellows and sickly oranges lay split across the whole mess—even the walls and windows were splattered in red, long rivers of dried maroon. The mechanical chair in the center seemed bent—one arm was crushed and twisted, as the backrest hung attached only by one rod.

Zack quietly praised the gods that he had faced down Tifa's fierce eyes to convince her not to come. He didn't want her, or Cloud, to have seen this. This was worse than he could've ever imagined.

"Vincent…" Rinoa spoke quietly, still looking away, "Was this where—"

Human experimentation. Murder. Torture. More dots, fueled by a just rage, connected for Zack and he turned quickly to see Vincent, his thin, dark form a striking contrast against the white, standing still in the center of the diamond, dark red eyes staring out past them with a silence and stoicism all his own.

But just as Zack was about to speak words he didn't yet know, born from pity and rage of Vincent's place in all this, the still man raised a hand, eyes narrowing, "Quiet."

It was easily done, and the perfectly white room fell to a complete silence—the kind of silence that creates a buzz all its own that almost draws you in and drives you mad with its perfect solitude.

But then there was a single note. A tap? A breath? No, Zack thought, it was too fluid. It was something more—it rose and fell, it stopped and started, it drifted over down the long hall that closed the diamond, across the elevator—another dark corner into which no one had yet tread.

As it rose and fell one more time, Zack recognized with a chill: it was humming.

"No, wait—Aerith!" Zack exclaimed in a near whisper, as the girl seemed to comprehend it too, simultaneous with him, and dashed after the sound, just dodging Zack's grab at her arm.

Racing after her, down the slim and short hall, Zack only just noticed as he passed barred-cell after barred-cell, squat little squares with barely enough room to stretch out. Was there something in them, hunched or hovering in the shadows?

But Aerith had fallen to a breathless standstill, before the final cage on the right before the hallway ascended a half-dozen steep stairs to meet yet another grand metal door, this one etched over in some kind of writing.

But as Zack flew to a stop beside Aerith, following her gaze in past the bars, he was robbed of any other concern. In a space barely bigger than a single bed, a woman lay with her back to one wall, and her legs pulled up tight under her and the tatters of clothing that still hung to her.

Her dirtied, brown hair was matted and torn, missing entirely in places, as long as her waist in others. Thick, swollen scars covering her body, with pricks and bruises all up and down her bony arms that were wrapped about her impossibly tiny frame.

But her eyes—Zack thought it impossible, but her eyes were two distant emeralds, gems familiar to him, stark against the shadowed whites; bright against her pale and clammy skin.

"Rinoa! Rin!" Zack shouted, nearly collapsing upon the bolts and bars that kept locked away this person, this woman; Aerith's—

The clangs and cuts as Rinoa joined him seemed to stir Aerith to attention, out of her dreamlike stare at this older doppleganger, wasted away in the cage. With a cry that pierced Zack's heart to the core, Aerith flailed forward and jammed her small arms through the bars, reaching through the squalor to that hunched and broken creature.

"Mothe—Ilfa, Ilfana—give me, give me your hand—" she begged, demanded, pleaded, stretching her fingers as far as they could go, "I can—I can help you; we're here to help you, I'm—I'm Ae-Aerith!"

No response had been elicited by all the work and worry of Zack and Rinoa, but when Aerith spoke, the woman raised one poor, fragile hand, fingers crooked and bruised by repeated breakings, with her fingertips only just touching Aerith's—who had already begun her chants and murmured cures.

But the green light was dim, and did not straighten bones nor heal scars—only a few bruises lightened. As Aerith closed her eyes in scrunched focus, Zack left breaking the door down to Rinoa's capable hands and reached out to support Aerith; holding her steady as she leaned all her weight forward to reach through the bars as far as she could.

"It's too close." The woman spoke in rasp, slipping through her cracked lips, as her head lolled, "too close, too close—even for your lovely cures…Aerittthhhh…"

Aerith's eyes snapped open, gazing across at those which stared back at her from above a gap-toothed smile, "but, but one day—the…the castles will be built and she'll…she'll be gone…"

Zack could feel Aerith's body shaking in his arms, all wonder and fear and shock and confusion, "Are—are you—"

"Ohhhh, Aerith…" the woman crooned, taking Aerith's fingertips weakly in her own, "What a…a…lovely young woman you are…"

And with that, Aerith broke. Ttears flowed in silent sobs as she clung to some mix of Zack's arms and the bars, "You're—you're really—"

"Oh, child, don't cry!" Ilfana, Aerith's mother, to Zack's unprocessable shock, chided with a hissing chortle, "we're at a party after all! Just look at the…at the lights…"

And her humming continued, even as she rubbed Aerith's hands, hich jolted and convulsed in tandem with her tears.

"Now…now, tell me—" Ilfana inquired, her head lolling forward, "Did you bring…any flowers…? My room could use…it's so empty you see, just my dishes and baubles and a few small friends…"

Aerith's sobs came heavier now, even as Zack felt warm tears on his own cheeks. Ilfana was here, somehow—miraculously, Aerith's mother was alive.

But Ilfana also wasn't _here._

"Oh, shush, Lightning—you musn't…" Ilfana murmured, to something invisible beyond Aerith's shoulder, "you mustn't be so…insensitive…"

"Got it." Rinoa muttered, stepping back as chains and bolts fell and the barred gate swung open with a piercing creak

Immediately, Aerith was through the door and collapsed gently around her mother, trying now to control her heaves, making them into little hiccups, as she tried again at her cure magic. Ilfana merely continued humming, eyes distant.

"I don't…" Zack mumbled, passing by Rinoa, "Her magic is perfect! Why isn't it working?"

Rinoa's eyes narrowed, her frown deepening, "There's something wrong here. In the air. Nothing's flowing like it should."

Zack followed her eyes back to the elevated door at the hallway's end, which stood in silent watch. But somehow it seemed almost to keep his gaze; as if, in fact, staring back in pitiless serenity at scene unfolding before it.

It wasn't…moving, was it, Zack wondered? What was behind there, with its whole body pressed against the door, listening to what might let it out…?

But then, Zack was shaken from what had felt almost like a dream, to hear Ilfana speak again, "Oh! Oh! How could I forget! I have—I have something special for you…"

"No, no—" Aerith whispered gently, a worrying breathlessness to her voice, "You don't need to talk. It's okay. We'll…we'll make this work…"

"Ah, but…but I hid it…I hid it very well…" Ilfana thin lips gave a cheeky smile and, suddenly in her previously empty hand was a single white orb, swirled with a sky-blue. With startling force, she grabbed one of Aerith's attentive hands and closed it over the little bauble.

"We need to go." Vincent's voice commanded, from down in the diamond.

"What's…this…?" Aerith paused, haggard in voice and focus.

"Good news. The Great…the Great Gospel…" Ilfana's eyes flickered closed, seeming to savor something, "Seven Hearts…Five Keys…One Sky…Kingdom Hearts…"

Aerith just seemed to freeze, sitting there with her mother in one arm and a small globe in the opposite hand, emerald eyes trying to process far more than any one person should ever have to.

Rinoa, meanwhile, let out a little breath of air in some expression Zack wasn't sure of.

With regret, but intention, Zack nodded and moved forward, gently scooping Ilfana's nearly weightless body in his arms, "Alright, we've…we've gotta get out of here."

"I don't understand…why it's not working…" Aerith murmured, still kneeling in the filth of the cell floor.

Holding Ilfana in one arm, Zack reached down to carefully pull Aerith to her feet. But as he did, Ilfana whispered, "It's death. She's too close…."

A sudden wave of nausea, accompanied by a deep buzzing, nearly caused Zack to stumble, but it passed just as quickly as it came, and he steadied Ilfana in his arms.

"Oh, sir…" she murmured, pulling at her scraps of clothing, "Please don't tell Gast about all this…I would die of embarrassment…"

"I, ah—" Zack nodded, "Of course not, ma'am. My lips are sealed."

"Good…good boy…" Ilfana replied, continuing to hum quietly and intermittently, "Just…tell him I'll be…home soon…"

Rinoa stepped forward, blinking away her own experience, as she guided Aerith after them, "Come on, honey. We need to get out of here."

Vincent had remained precisely where he had been when the first entered the cell, watching them with those narrow eyes, all hobbling together out from the hallway.

Leaning against on one of the white walls to right, Cid startled, gasped, and cursed under his breath when he saw Ilfana's condition, but he fell silent as everyone froze.

An ever-so-clear note dinged about in the emptiness of the laboratory.

Ilfana began clamoring and mumbling in Zack's arms as, before them, the gravira elevator slid open to reveal a stick of a man, arms tucked in a lab coat, with thin and greasy black hair tied up behind his narrow head.

Faster than Zack could blink, Vincent's revolver was raised and the trigger pulled, but the shot went wide and burnt a dark hole in the white wall beside the entrance. Aerith, having nearly flew forward, held Vincent's arm shoved down.

"Help her right now, you goddamn monster!" Aerith screamed, in a voice that froze Zack's blood faster than the appearance of the man who must be Hojo.

"I'm honored you accepted my invitation," Hojo said, in a voice as reedy as his body, as he stepped out from the elevator and glanced at the scorch mark to his left, "And saved my life."

"I said help her—" Aerith repeated.

"I heard you." Hojo interrupted, "There is no more helping Ilfana. Not without you here, anyway."

"What are you talking about?" Aerith demanded, still holding Vincent's arm down.

"Ilfana is unique. I would need a genetic match to help recover her from a…strenuous few years," Hojo adjusted his glasses, "Hence, your presence. Stay, and I will allow your friends to go free. Try to leave…" raising his other hand, Hojo revealed his own small pistol and a PHS, "And I shall have to call security and get to some…real work."

Ilfana was hiding her face against Zack's shoulder, murmuring things Zack couldn't understand. Rinoa stood close behind him, as Aerith, unthinkably, stood ahead of all of them and seemed almost as if she were considering his offer.

"Or you let us go, and keep your labs intact." Vincent responded, pushing an unresponsive Aerith back, and lifting a small detonator from his belt. A sharp intake from Rinoa affirmed Zack's conclusion: Vincent had been placing explosives the whole way down.

In that moment of total stunned silence, Zack heard Ilfana whisper something. She still leaned against his shoulder like a baby, but her voice was suddenly very different—a different Ilfana, from another time, another place, another life.

"You are the inheritor of a great people; the scattered light of Kingdom Hearts—" her eyes locked upon Aerith's, whose gaze seemed far-distant, as she stood still where Vincent had shoved her, "You are my daughter—and I love you."

"Ah, Vincent Valentine…" Hojo smiled, "One a Turk, always a Turk—but it isn't your choice. Or mine. Child!"

Aerith glanced up, and away from her mother's eyes.

"Tell me, have you found your answers? Or only more questions?" He raised a brow, over the sight of his pistol, "I have much more to tell. Just step through that door, stay with me, and we'll discover it together."

Behind them, one of the empty cell doors clicked, hissed, and fell open.

"And all of them, including your mother, gets out of here alive."

Zack couldn't take it anymore and snorted, shaking his head, "Yeah, right. BS—you're done if you let us leave. We'll bring the PKF down so hard that it'll knock you right down to the bottom of the wells—a bath it really looks like you need, by the way."

"Right. Of course." Hojo smiled politely, boiling Zack's blood.

"Yeah, of course they will, you idiot—"

"What will we be doing?" Aerith asked, looking back between her mother and the open cage.

"No." Vincent responded, raising his revolver again to match Hojo's, who turned his weapon to return the favor.

Zack's thoughts were coming slower now—was Aerith serious? How could she even be _thinking_ about this? Sure, she'd sacrifice herself for them, of course, damn, she did that everyday! But Aerith wasn't _stupid._ Even Ven could tell that this guy wasn't trustworthy—and Ven once believed for a year that thunder magic had to be harvested from lightning storms because a shopkeeper said so.

"Tell me." Aerith re-affirmed, resolutely stepping forward to stand between Zack, Rinoa and Hojo, "What did you do to her?"

"Don't leave me...don't…" Ilfana whispered weakly in Zack's arms as Aerith stepped further away.

Meanwhile, Zack concluded the only thing reasonable: Aerith wasn't really considering it, at all.

"Groundbreaking work. Unfortunately, Ilfana was always…somewhat hesitant." Hojo responded, "But if you can accommodate yourself to certain necessities, we can be partners." His eyes glinted, "We would learn everything—about your past, your person; everything you've always wondered late at night, unable to sleep."

Looking down as discreetly as possible, Zack saw that he and Rinoa were on the same page. Ever so slowly, her blaster edge was being drawn from her holster, hidden behind Aerith's ill-fitted lab coat.

"I-I see…" Aerith murmured, "And you swear my mother and friends will leave Shinra alive?"

"Absolutely."

"And no one will go after them?"

"They'll be no need." Hojo smiled with what Zack imagined he thought to be welcome, but it just came across as satisfaction.

"I would…love to know…" Aerith replied, "So many mysteries and so much fear, just _to know_ would be comforting…" Aerith looked over to Vincent, and back over her shoulder to Cid, to Zack and Ilfana, and finally lingering on Rinoa, "But I don't need to." She looked back resolutely, "I have everything I need, and I won't surrender it, any of it, for anything."

"Tch, you give up answers for simple comforts?" Hojo sneered.

"No," Aerith answered, "It's the other way around. They're my answers."

And with that, from over her shoulder, Rinoa shot blasted Hojo's pistol from his hand, causing him to stumble back, the he second shot missing the PHS in his other hand.

But almost simultaneously, Vincent fired his own revolver, blasting Hojo's arm, causing him to drop the PHS and fall back beside the elevator, blood smearing on the white walls behind him.

Vincent chambered another round, as Zack pulled a shaking Aerith close.

"Goodbye, Hojo." Vincent murmured.

But Hojo just smiled and began chuckling, looking past all of them to what lay at the far end of the hallway.

"Indeed." He said, voice quivering with anticipation, and with a quick flick of his hand, pressed some sort of control panel hidden in the wall. All four of the chained doors that neighbored the elevator seemed to crack away from the wall, as the chains came undone and the locks that held them unfastened.

"Are you for f*cking real?" Cid shouted, pulling his long spear from its sheath on his back.

"Get to the elevator!" Vincent warned, turning his weapon away from Hojo to the closest of the doors—which, before anyone could react, flew open with a crash, as from it emerged a creature that walked on all fours, but which defied Zack's descriptions.

It looked like some awful form had been layered over the template of a human—it prowled forward on two thin front legs, with two stronger on the rear. Faceless but for two glowing red eyes, it was hunched over, an enormous mound of a back covered with pulsating muscle. At the same time, the other three doors opened and other monstrous creatures emerged—all equally horrific and indescribable.

Some walked on two legs, others slithered forward on a twisting, writhing, sickly-flesh colored tentacles that left watery trails along the pristine floor. Some were faceless, others held only the mocking imitation of a face—twisted beyond comparison, with gaping-wide, black mouths and empty eye sockets. Some wore a kind of twisted metal mask, others had pitiful, malformed wings erupting from their backs.

Zack froze, if only for a minute. What the hell was this place?

"Cid—get that elevator open!" Rinoa ordered, ripping off her helmet to see clearer and firing first at the closet monster—a dark shifting mass, that seemed to pulled itself forward out of the darkness in heaving movements.

"Imma given' it my godamndest!" Cid shouted, stabbing through a faceless, reedy form with multiple arms, "Zack?"

Nodding, holding Ilfana close in one arm and pulling Aerith with the other, Zack ran forward toward the elevator door, as Vincent and Rinoa cleared a path down the center of the diamond with their shots and cuts. Beside Cid kneeling beside the panel, Zack gently sat Aerith down and placed her mother up against her.

"You did your part, Aerith," he said, unsheathing the Tsurugi, "Not let us do ours, alright?"

Turning, Zack swept his great blade along and decapitated the first monster to charge at them, bleeding and wounded from multiple shots from Vincent. But before its crumpled visage even stained the floor, another beast was upon him—this one with two legs, and two arms, almost human. It even had long, silver hair that clung in clumps to its thin head. But its face was just a shrieking black hole, grasping for him.

Swinging up, Zack nearly caught it under the chin—but its thing, long-fingered hands caught his blade and held it back, unable to cut totally through that flesh, even if blood and black fluid leaked out around the blade.

Reaching out with his left hand, Zack continued to shove back, as he detached one of the Tsurugi's smaller blades, knife-sized in length, and plunged it into the side of the monster's empty head, dropping it down.

Shaking it from his blade, Zack turned to carve a slash up the back of another one, of similar kind, before its long and grasping arms could reach Cid's turned back. A bulbous and putrid pus emerged from the wound, nearly indistinguishable from the sickening sores that covered the creature.

It was then that he noticed other creatures that had emerged from those hellish doors—all the same, they were vaguely humanoid, but hunched, and covered only in draping black cloth that totally hid their forms. But these ones did not attack. They simply remained standing on the edges of the room and watched.

 _What_ the _hell_ was this place?

Suddenly, Zack felt a burning needle in the back of his calf, which brought him down to one knee. He knew that feeling—someone had shot him. Looking over his shoulder, he saw Hojo, crawled out in the midst of the floor with a trail of blood behind him, holding up his revolver and chortling.

Using the Tsurugi to push himself to his feet, Zack got ready to deflect another shot, but suddenly, it was Hojo's chest that burst with a brief shot and he collapsed over, choking. Zack knew that Vincent was, somewhere in this mess, quite satisfied with himself.

Grinding his teeth through the pain, Zack twisted back to cut at a tree-like form that lumbered at him—trunk-sized flesh twisting around each other as vague legs of some sort, as both shoulders branched out into large, bony appendages, with curved horns emerging from its back and a single, writing tentacle from its side. A head seemed to emerge, as if stretched, from its chest—mostly gnashing teeth and rows of lidless, red eyes.

Grunting as he lifted himself on his wounded leg, Zack quickly glanced to see Aerith—whispering quiet and calming encouragements to her terrified mother—as Cid crouched beside them, elbow deep in the paneling. The repeated sound of gunfire encouraged him that Rinoa and Vincent were still moving.

As the tentacle reached for him, Zack stumbled to the side, letting it crash down where he had stood and slicing out with the Tsurugi at the fleshy pillar, grinding his blade deep as the creature roared and swung its tentacle again.

Zack ducked beneath the swing and stabbed upward with his little knife, carving it from the tip to halfway down its widening length. A shot from either Vincent or Rinoa sent the monster stumbling back, even as from within its gushing tentacle, another four burst forth, catching Zack on his wounded leg and tossing him back to crash against the wall beside the elevator.

"Zack!" Aerith cried, only a few feet from him now.

Blinking back the dizziness, Zack grasped out for the Tsurugi beside him, even as the monster trudged closer and closer.

Through his spinning world, Zack heard Ilfana's fearful mumblings cease, replaced by a sudden clarity.

"You are my living legacy, Aerith. You will do wonders."

Suddenly, Ilfana's frail and tortured form was between them and the moaning creature. She waved one bony hand and, in its wake, a thousand little crystals of light, shimmering and transparent chimes, formed. Rolling her hands together, the arrow-shaped crystals exploded forward, in a burst that utterly eviscerated the hulking monster into a shredded, quivering heap.

If watching Ilfana stand was a shock, watching her decimate something like that was mindbreaking. Aerith was at his side now, whispering some hasty spell over his leg, while reaching for Ilfana, who still stood surveying the entire laboratory. Its pristine whiteness now was bursting forth with dripping, quivering, shuddering horrors of flesh and bone and more impossible things besides, around which Rinoa and Vincent glided and leapt in long-practiced grace—but even they were beginning to drown amidst the overflow.

For a brief slice of time, Ilfana turned back to them, and she appeared no longer as a half-sane, hobbled and broken woman, covered in tatters. Instead, her skin was ethereally healthy and radiant, and her clothes a dress of light. Her emerald eyes shown bright and kind, as a waterfall of full, brown hair, just like Aerith's, tumbled down her back. Light shined from her sad smile, as she spoke only briefly, "Take care of each other, okay?"

Neither Zack nor Aerith could respond, as Ilfana turned away and raised her arms. The glow that emanated from within her, which had clothed her, now expanding out beyond her in a brilliant flash that left Zack utterly blinded—but not without some strange, comforting warmth.

When the light faded, the monsters within a dozen feet had been reduced utterly to ash and beyond them, the rest stumbled about, screeching and writhing, all blind.

And Ilfana was gone; dissipated into the fading glitter of her own light.

Zack quickly turned to Aerith, who watched the final twinkles vanish into the air, with tears pouring down her cheeks. Zack, swallowing over his own, could only grab her hand.

It was Cid's exuberant shout, moments later, that returned them with hope to the awful reality before them, "Sh*t yeah! I got it!"

"Then let's get going." Rinoa shouted, stumbling across the diamond as best she could, with Vincent draped over her shoulder, "He's alive, but the light dropped him, too."

With new vigor, Zack pulled himself to his feet and, gathering the Tsurugi, quickly pulled Aerith up with him. The creature's rage had turned to awful, pained moans—perhaps they were recovering?

Piling Aerith in first, Zack turned back to check on Vincent and Rinoa—who now had another monster, feminine and sickly shade of blue, missing huge chunks from its torso, but with two great talons on each arm, bearing down upon them.

Just as Zack was about to charge forward, the whistling of Cid's spear flew past his ear and lodged itself firmly in what remained of the monster's chest, forcefully tossing it back.

"Thanks." Rinoa said, as she dragged Vincent, awake but breathing heavily, into the gravira elevator, and Zack jumped in behind them.

"'told Squall I'd take care'a ya." Cid muttered, closing up the rear and turning to the interior control panel.

"How sweet!" Rinoa gave a little smile and tousled Cid's hair.

But as Cid jerked away and began his final work, amidst the gurgling screams and tortured moans of what remained of those terrors, a single human voice could be made out—arising from the blood-soaked, laughing remains of a man in a white lab coat, who still lay in the center of his diamond laboratory, muttering to himself, to them, or to the world:

"She…will walk in your skin…"

And with that, the doors slid close, the elevator rose, and the noises became a distant rumble as silence reigned.

"Okay. So lemme just be the first to say it: that sh*t was f*****cked." Cid released hours of tension in a single gasp and collapsed, "Like, thirty-ways-from-Sunday f*cked."

Vincent coughed, able to stand with a bit of effort, "That's what Shinra is."

"Well, f*ck me, man." Cid shook his head, looking over to Aerith, who sat back against the far wall, head hung over her hands, "I'm…I'm really sorry, about your ma."

"She saved us all, Aerith." Rinoa nodded, stooping low to look up in her friend's eyes, "After all these years of the hell—she remembered you. She loved you. I could see it, from the first moment."

Aerith nodded, eyes downcast, as she rolled the little white and blue orb between her fingers. For his part, Zack simply rubbed her shoulders as they ascended—there was so much to say, to think, to process, to mourn…it was beyond words.

Slowly, the elevator came to a stop and opened on the same level they had entered from.

Hesitantly, the group stepped carefully out of the elevator. There, down that hall, was the door for their escape—just as planned.

"Man, this feels like we f*cking lost." Cid muttered quietly, as they moved quickly down the hall.

Zack and Rinoa looked at each other, unsure of how to respond. Had it all been for nothing?

"No." Aerith whispered, eyes red from tears, "No, we didn't."

Zack nodded. If that's how Aerith saw it, then that was how it was. None of them had gotten what they wanted—but maybe, Aerith had gotten something, someone, she needed.

Which reminded Zack—.

"Hey, what about Vincent's—"

Rinoa froze as he spoke and whipped around, to see that Vincent hadn't been following them. He was still in the elevator, looking down at the switch he held in his hand.

"Vincent—!" Rinoa started, and began to race back toward him.

"Go without me." Vincent murmured, as the elevator doors slid shut, racing upward, to the President's office.

"Damnit!" Rinoa muttered, slowing, "He's going to get himself killed."

Suddenly, the whole floor shook with an explosion—and then another. And another, getting more and more distant. The whole building seemed to quake, both above and below them, as piping came lose, spilling out steam and scalding liquid. The metal grates beneath them began to creak and sink, as the machinery that seemed built into the very structure of the building itself began to spark and crack.

"He's gonna get us _all_ killed if we don't get out of here ASAP," Cid shouted, pulling Rinoa forward toward their escape—an urging that, after a moment of hesitation and another great quake—they all quickly followed, slipping away during the evacuation of Shinra, through a little water processing outlet, with no one sure at all about what they had seen.

* * *

Ienzo stood in the back of the office, behind where Xehanort sat scribbling at his desk. This was where he preferred to be, as his brothers argued.

"Ok, ok, so what the hell do we actually know?" Braig asked, rubbing his wounded leg. Though not how he told it, Braig had not fared well against Eraqus' apprentice.

"One, that the darkness in the Heartless correspond to both darkness in the heart and whatever lies behind that door," Even took it upon himself to respond, with the most disgusted of tones at having to do so, "Two, Xehanort experienced some connection with that force, some kind of 'greater heart,' that awoke something in him," this Even spoke with a disbelieving sarcasm, having confided recently with Ienzo that Xehanort was becoming an 'unreliable narrator'.

"And third, the Heartless have been multiplying since the attack—my hypothesis is that they are corresponding to the darkness found in the hearts of the Deepground terrorists." Even closed, "Dilan, how goes the culling?"

"Sufficiently." Dilan answered, from where he leaned against one of Xehanort's many bookshelves, "The machine to automate the process and slow the consolidation of darkness at the door is nearly complete."

"Could that process be reverse engineered?" Xehanort looked up from his notes.

Dilan paused, before nodding, "Theoretically, yes."

Even glanced to Ienzo with narrowed eyes, warning this was evidence of Xehanort's disturbance, "But only a fool would do so."

Xehanort did not respond, but only returned to his notes.

"Last, that brings us to you, Braig," Even sighed, "Tell us, is that new substance of any use?"

"Welp, it's definitely wonky space stuff." Braig said, trying on the same air of scientific authority as Even, "Very malleable. Great conduit. And plenty of it since that meteor shower. Honestly, 'wish we'd had that when we were fixing up the lab. Woulda made it a hell of a lot easier—"

Ienzo had to admit that as Braig began to speak, he mostly tuned him out. Ienzo had tested the meteor's remnants as soon as they fell and knew everything Braig (who had probably waited until last night) had to say, and even more besides. Instead, he found his eyes drifting down to what Xehanort was scrawling out in his perfect cursive:

"— _But what do they mean to do with the heart of the world?"_

And then, with that long hand, he signed it, as their Father had drilled into them of all their reports, to keep them organized amongst the six of them. But Xehanort did not sign it 'Xehanort'; nor even X, as he was wont to do as shorthand.

No, Xehanort signed in a new hand: ' _Ansem'_.

A slight frown tugged at Ienzo's mouth as he wondered what that could mean.

Meanwhile, Braig was still talking about how surprisingly far he had stretched the new material, when Xehanort suddenly interrupted.

"This has nothing to do with the Door. Even, I trust you have measured it by now?"

"Er, yes." Even nodded, as Braig shrugged, "Its energy levels are unstable; fluctuating. It's participating in, or causing, some sort of energy field. I theorize it's been phased into existence between two dimensions of—"

"It needs more power. It needs to be stabilized." Xehanort interrupted again, steepling his fingers, "Don't you think?"

"Perhaps." Even nodded, "But the kind of raw energy and precise magicks that would be required—we'd have to expand the laboratory a hundred-fold."

"I've thought about that." Xehanort responded, "Using the meteorite as a conduit, we can reroute the entire system throughout the Castle's existing design—from the basement, to the Grand Hall."

"W-what?" Even exclaimed, as Dilan raised an eyebrow, "You're talking about—"

"Making the entire Bastion into a living system to stabilize the door, yes."

Ienzo felt a smile coming on, "You must admit, Even, it is sensible. The Bastion could provide sufficient power, and the Grand Hall is the perfect staging area—it is the beating heart of all the essential systems, after all."

"Except how could we _possibly_ keep that secret?" Even nearly shouted.

Braig chuckled, "Who cares? I love it!"

"We are simply upgrading the Castle as a precaution against Deepground." Xehanort answered smoothly, "The laborers won't even have to know what they're doing. Correct, Dilan?"

Dilan frowned, stroking his chin, "I have been speaking with Ansem about such improvements…"

"Fine, Xehanort, fine," Even sighed, "Have it your way. But riddle me this—even if we can stabilize the Door, how will that help us open it? Shall a key also then drop out of the sky?"

Suddenly, the PHS on Dilan's belt beeped wildly. After a moment of interpretation, Dilan marched forward and threw open the glass doors that led out to Xehanort's balcony. Confused, Even, Braig, and Ienzo quickly followed him. Something was wrong.

Only Xehanort stayed seated, drawing what seemed to Ienzo to be a design of how the power system would be routed—two loops, that circled up from the basement around the castle's edges, to meet a the highest parapets and fall together, to meet in a valley at the Grand Hall.

Out on the balcony, though all seemed calm, Dilan was quietly scanning the city

"For god's sake, Dilan, what is it?" Even cried.

"There's been an attack at Shinra." Dilan answered shortly.

"Oh, what the hell! I need a drink." Braig exclaimed, and ran for Xehanort's cabinet. Ienzo felt panic push up his heart rate just slightly. How could another happen this soon?

"Then why can't I see it!" Even exclaimed, scanning the city as well. All seemed well—normal, clear skies. Bubbling waters. Businesses and schools and houses and trains. No disturbance whatsoever.

"It must be on one of the basement levels." Dilan frowned, as more noises came across his PHS, "It seems to be under control by Shinra's security. No reports of any Deepground sightings."

Braig came wandering back out onto the balcony with a bottle and several cups, one of which Ienzo refused, though Dilan and Even happily took their own.

"If it's underground, it'll be easy enough to keep the people calm." Dilan took a sip, as he punched a few commands into his PHS to be sent to Ansem, "We'll keep it under wraps and work with Rufus to comprehend what occurred."

"That fool Hojo probably just blew himself up." Even scoffed, taking his own swig.

As Ienzo turned his eyes back from the city, he shrugged, "Perhaps father will be eager now for more upgrades to the Bastion."

"Heh, true enough!" Braig chuckled darkly, "Glad you to see you accepting the cynicism, kid."

"I need to go." Dilan downed the rest of his shot, and marched back inside, "Just in case this escalates to more than an industrial accident."

"The whole damn world might just be falling apart," Braig sighed, turning to drink straight from the bottle, and followed after him.

Ienzo lingered on the balcony, observing the whole of the Garden in its beauty. They would protect it from harm. Its salvation would come from this very room. No more risk for the PKF, or for Aeleus—they would, in understanding the darkness of the heart through Xehanort's work, be able to control it in the hearts of all people.

Suddenly, from within, a knock came at the door. Xehanort looked up from his writings and Dilan, about to exit himself, opened it.

"Masters," one of the servants bowed, "The three children of the late Master Eraqus are here to see you."

Dilan nodded woodenly, eyes slightly widened, "Very good. We'll be right down. You are dismissed."

The entire room sat frozen for precisely seven and half seconds, by Ienzo's count, before Braig, Dilan, and Even all began talking at once.

"Sh*t, d'ya think they know?"

"We need to be cautious."

"They found one of subjects in this castle—of course they know!"

Watching his brothers, Ienzo felt his pulse quicken again. It was the most reasonable thing to assume that the knights of the Keyblade had put some pieces together and were, at least, here to investigate. But was it possible they comprehended enough of it?

Did they hold enough authority to take action, even if they did?

Could the lost subject have found its way to them and told them enough?

Even worse, were they here to talk to Ansem?

Could this be it? Could it all be falling apart? _Right_ _here and now?_

"Gods be cursed, it's all going to unravel!" Even swore, pacing back and forth across the room, "I always told you idiots—none of this was a good idea! We'll be tried and sentenced by father himself!"

Braig swug even deeper from the bottle, collapsing to his seat, "It's been a good ride, boys. We were close."

"We don't…" Dilan paused, brow narrowed, "We don't know what they know. There is no sense in panicking yet."

Ienzo couldn't tell if he was speaking more to them, or to himself. A genuine worry took him; his heart was now racing. Could it at all fall apart like this? Were the consequences literally knocking upon the door? Now, of all times, when they had come so far and were so close?

A sudden chuckle quieted all of them. Behind his desk, Xehanort was covering his mouth, muffling his laughter.

"At least he'll get off on lunacy!" Even cried, pounding his fist in frustration, as the other three watched Xehanort in confusion.

"Don't you get it, you arrogant halfwit?! They know!" Even shouted, spittle flying, "They're here because they know—about Shinra, about us, about the lab—everything! We're done!"

Xehanort, quieting his chuckling with a cough, now merely smiled.

Ienzo felt his pulse slow.

"It's perfect."


	17. Wayfinder--Jumping at Shadows

_I'm still writing up chapters to get ahead, but happy Final Fantasy 7 Day! It's such a beautifully perfect remake, until it makes some incredibly bizarre moves. I won't say more. Celebratory, nonetheless!  
_

* * *

 _ **Chapter XVII: Wayfinders—Jumping at Shadows  
**_ _I saw my mother on the street last night  
_ _all pretty and strong,  
singing 'the road is long'.  
_ _I said, "Momma, I know you've tried—"  
_ _But she fell on her knees and cried:  
Run for cover,  
_ _run while you can, baby,  
don't look back.  
~The Killers_

Keyblades weren't forever.

They could be lost. Destroyed by overwhelming force, or shattered by the will of their Wielder as a last resort, to be returned to Kingdom Hearts.

They could be severed. Sent away by their Wielder to find a new inheritor, leaving the previous Wielder to live out the remainder of their life in peace, free from such a curse.

Or they could carry their curse to the bitter end and, with their last breath, the Keyblade will vanish to seek out a new fool, perhaps even a child, to bear its burden.

She'd been that child once, Aqua thought. Once that burden had seemed light.

But now all she saw, as she leaned her head back against the cold window's glass which fogged under her breath, was her Father's great blade clattering to the ground and vanishing in a shimmer of light.

She'd been close enough. She probably could've grabbed it. Maybe her hand could've kept it. Now where had it gone? Did someone already bear the burdensome weight of a legacy they couldn't even begin to imagine?

With smoldering injustice, she wondered if someone else's hand might already be gripping the blade belonging so rightfully to a man who should still be alive.

But he was truly gone, Aqua knew. She still had to remind herself—it hadn't worked its way down into her heart yet. When he was her whole world, when he had brought her here from wherever she had come from, when he had supplied everything she ever needed—how could such a thing work its way down in a week? In a month? In a year?

In a lifetime?

Keyblades had names, too. His had been the Lightseeker. It had just appeared to him one day, a young man doing nothing other than repairing trains in some faraway town where, at least how he had always told it, the sun never truly set.

Days later, Master Yen Sid had found him and took him in. The old Master had been waiting years for the Lightseeker to reappear, for he knew of the location of only one other blade—his own, the Oathkeeper, which had eventually come to Ventus, once Yen Sid had been forced to give it up.

Father had never told them the story of what malevolent evil had been so threatening that the wizened old Master, still out there somewhere, would feel so compelled. And now, that was a story she'd never hear.

And she'd never be able to, as Father had never taught them how to leave Radiant Garden—perhaps for fear that Terra might actually do it.

Terra's great blade was the Way to Dawn, and her own was simply called the Kingdom Key. That had been the third thing her Father told her, when he first found her in some nameless orphanage—right after _"It's my pleasure to meet you, little Aqua—would you like to come with me?"_ and _"I will always take care of you."_

And he had. It just turned out that she hadn't been able to take care of him.

There was one more Keyblade out there, that Father knew of. He always claimed there were only five, still. He himself never knew why—and neither did Yen Sid, nor any Master in memory. Some sort of War had wiped them all out, that was all they knew.

When they were much younger, she and Terra and Ven had endlessly speculated if they would soon have a fourth sibling, indeed, they constantly had pestered Father about it. What was their Keyblade like? Was it a boy or girl (Aqua had always hoped for a little sister)? Why was it taking so long to arrive?

He'd never known, and it had never appeared. The fifth Keyblade had remained a mystery.

"Aqua, it's your turn." Terra said quietly.

"Oh, yeah, okay." Aqua murmured, and glanced back over the board. Terra had moved exactly where she had expected, and Ven had already lost most of his pieces. Without hesitation, she reached out and made the three moves she had planned out six turns ago.

Normally, both of them falling into her trap would bring a proud smirk to her face, as Terra and Ven tried their hardest to finagle her plans out of her. But she could offer nothing this time, and neither of them seemed terribly interested.

"Your turn, Ven."

But Ven, too, had drifted off and was even more inattentive than Aqua. He reclined back on the lounge, one hand behind his head as he fingered his crown necklace with the other. They'd gotten that for a birthday many years ago, joking that he was the spoiled little prince of the family.

"Ven." Terra added, gently.

"Hm? Yeah?" Ven murmured, glancing down at them.

"It's your turn."

"Oh, right."

Leaning forward, Ven thoughtlessly swiped the closest piece he could and tipped it forward a few spots. Aqua knew he had no plans.

"Done." He said simply, collapsing back.

Terra grunted as he received his turn again. His great forehead furrowed as he leaned on his hands, overseeing the board and, Aqua guessed, re-thinking his entire plan again to ensure it fit perfectly, as if whole eons had gone by rather than just two turns. His dedication was always charming, though less so today.

"So what do we do?" Ven finally spoke, looking at Aqua. Asking her.

Because she was in charge now?

"We need to act." Terra replied, lifting a hand to move, but then thinking better of it.

Aqua thought about responding, but didn't. Why was she in charge now?

"Yeah, but how?" Ven answered, leaning forward slightly, now on his side.

"Look, it's just the facts: We found Shinra's lapdogs in the Castle trying to catch that…thing." Terra frowned, "We sure as hell aren't getting into Shinra, but we could get into the Bastion," he sighed, "Ven, you really don't know where your friend could be?"

"Well, it _was_ above the Seventh Heaven." Ven sighed, falling back, "But that's a pile of rubble now. And I don't know…where Aerith lives…" he frowned, likely wondering why he had never asked.

"So what else can we do? If we get to the Castle, we could talk with Lord Ansem. Or at least with Aeleus or Dilan—they could tell us where Zack or—or—"

"Cloud." Aqua supplied, eyes drawn back out the window to Father's little garden, were they had sprinkled his ashes.

"Cloud, right." Terra nodded, "All our answers lie there."

"But didn't the last list put out by the Bastion…didn't it have _her_ name on it?" Ven's voice fell low, almost as if he was afraid she'd overhear as he gestured back into the house. There, unfortunately for all, Lucretia's body lay entombed and preserved by blizzard concoctions that had taken Aqua a whole day to conjure properly.

They just hadn't known what to do.

"We haven't reported anything—" Ven continued, "So how would that be possible unless…"

"Someone at the Bastion was in on the whole thing." Terra finished, "Right. That's what we need to figure out. And we won't be able to do it from here. We need to speak with Lord Ansem."

"Shouldn't we, y'know, ask what Aqua thinks?" Ven looked over at her, eyes unsure, "I mean, she's—now that she's—"

"The Master is dead." Terra interrupted, his deep voice cracking as his hands knit together, "We all have to act together. We have to carry on his mission. No more hiding. No more waiting." He nodded, glancing back himself to where Lucretia's body lay, "The truth will come out."

Aqua didn't know what to think, herself. Terra was right—but he was also reckless. Ven had been nodding along with him, only checking over with her now and then for affirmation she couldn't provide. Why look to her? She wasn't Father.

She didn't have any vision beyond his. She had simply trusted him—she could guess at his intentions, speculate about his plans, draw a few hypotheses about where he intended all their work here to go—

But how could she possibly presume to sit where he sat and speak with his authority?

That wasn't hers. It was his.

"Aqua, listen, I—I know…" Terra spoke quietly and earnestly, "I know. But sitting here will just get us killed." He paused, swallowing, "Like her. We need to act or it will happen more. That's what the Master would've wanted."

Picking up his tiny piece in two of his great fingers, Terra moved it to stand beside one of Aqua's, one she had intended to sacrifice, but he did not take it. Sighing, he stood to his feet and, marched across the room to begin clothing himself with his gold and red armor.

As Aqua watched Terra gear up for war, Ven's gaze was torn between them, "Terra, I, shouldn't we wait for—"

Terra, already garbed up to his torso and grabbing his cloak to cover it all, simply stilled, "Aqua…?"

"I'm not Father." Aqua answered, standing to her feet, "And I am not the Master. If you both go, I will, too."

Terra smiled—a half-way, world-weary upturn of exhaustion, "Good. Good."

And so it went—in silence, each of them attached their armor, piece by piece, and wrapped themselves up in their cloaks, which now attached to the back of their necks.

They had each smithed these armors for themselves when they came of age, under Father's watchful eye, to match the Keychains they had carved to turn their blades into their own forms: Ven's that dark grey gear-tip, opposite his grip to accommodate his unique way of holding the blade; armor silver to match, with golden wings falling back from the elbows and helmet.

Terra's long, gold-blade with those enormous tumblers cutting through its tip, his armor gold and red to match, with broad and thick chestplate and pauldrons.

Aqua's dark blue blade, with those intricate geometric diamonds that she had spent weeks drawing out on piles of scrap paper, her armor slim for ease of movement, all curving back, as if just struck by a wave—a design of which she was very proud.

But what would have been shocking two weeks ago, armored and garbed, with their helmets tucked away under their robes, now felt hollow; almost a dirge.

Their silent procession out of door and down their hill, looking back up at the monastery one more time, only made it feel more so.

The town was quiet, as evening was setting in. The fira lamps were just being lit, a gentle wind blew through the trees and flowers, and the last rays of the sun glanced over the Garden's great walls, painting their light blue hue with bit a bit of a greenish glow, while leaving the upper ramparts of the castle bathed in light.

The walk to the Bastion wasn't long, as every level of the Garden possessed a pathway up to it, but the silence seemed to drag it on for hours on end—just Aqua and her brothers, walking through the emptying streets, toward whatever awaited them in that enormous castle.

As they approached a small crowd seemed to have formed around the entrance of their district. The iron gate, the district's sole opening in the walls that wrapped the Bastion and its gardens up around its whole circle, was surrounded by a mumbling, disgruntled crowd, who seemed to be waiting for something or someone—a protest, perhaps?

Terra led them, and the crowd parted around his bulk as they approached the gates. Aqua could hear them better now: mumbled complaints about Wutai, murmurs that the Royalty and Lord Ansem were not doing nearly enough to respond to the terrorist crisis.

She kept her face resolutely forward, but Aqua couldn't help but wonder if the people in this, the highest district, were troubled this much—how did the gates of the lower districts look now?

"We seek…" she heard Terra announce to the two guards beyond the gate, "We seek an audience with the Lord Protector!"

"Do you have an invitation?" one guard inquired from within his iron helmet, as Aqua came to stand beside her brother, and Ven beside her.

Terra shook his head and raised his hand, summoning the Keyblade. Little gasps sounded through the crowd as a few stumbled back. The guards did the same.

With unthreatening gentility, Terra pointed his blade at the great iron lock upon the center of the bars, and, with a click, the gate creaked open.

"Is that sufficient?" he asked, stepping through and dismissing the blade, with Ven upon his tail and Aqua trailing, closing the gate up behind them.

"G-go tell someone that the Lord has guests." One guard swallowed, stepping back to allow them to pass, as the other ran on ahead.

Perhaps not how she would've done it, Aqua thought, but she couldn't deny Terra's efficiency. They were all something of a legend in the Garden, and Terra had no qualms with leveraging that sort of impression.

In moments, they were down the marble paths that wound through the bountiful Gardens of the castle, passing over running rivers and around blossoming fountains as they approached one of the seven great oaken doors that led into the Bastion's winding halls.

Apparently, the guard who ran ahead had done his job well, for when their path ended at the Bastion's door, it was already open, with the apprentice Braig leaning against it, cross-legged and cross armed, smiling.

"Well, howdy! If it ain't the heroes!" he stepped off to stand tall and bowed, "Welcome to Hollow Bastion. You here for the old man?"

"We wish to speak with Lord Ansem, yes." Terra affirmed, as Aqua only watched warily. She didn't like nor trust Braig—he was utterly, confoundingly, unpredictable.

"Well, ole' pops is down in the library." He swept an arm inward in greeting, "I'll take you there, if you want."

Checking briefly back with both Aqua and Ven, Terra nodded, "Thank you."

And with that, they followed Braig inside, as the great door groaned closed behind them, taking with it the last streams of evening light.

"Hey, I wanted to say I'm sorry to hear about the Master—we were all so bummed," Braig spoke, his voice echoing through the great chambers and soaring ceilings as he led them down the halls, "We're gonna try to get a statue up of him, somewhere. Dude really deserved it."

"Thank you," Terra answered, "He was a great man."

"Yup, we feel exactly the same way."

Aqua restrained herself from speaking, though she wished so badly to say that a man of Braig's caliber had no place talking about Father, led alone about statues of him "somewhere". He had no idea.

None whatsoever.

Their path kept descending, down staircase and open-air gravira lifts that wound around like clockwork in the open center of the Bastion, under the colorful lights that streamed through the stained glass above. Braig kept talking about this or that, which Aqua mostly ignored, as Terra engaged him as minimally as possibly. Another turn, another hall, another dozen rooms passed. The Castle was endless.

Ven glanced over at her worriedly, as they both looked at Terra and Braig's back. Clearly, she knew, he was trying to sort out the bizarre situation they were in—someone at the Castle knew they were onto something, and that person (persons?), would soon know they were here. They had to be on constant guard—anything could happen if that party felt threatened.

"—eh, well, I guess we're here!" Braig announced, pushing through two double doors into the Castle's library, "Guess you won't get to hear about how I got out of that barrel—hey, Pops! Pops! You got some visitors!"

Bowing again, Braig allowed them to pass into the maze of a library—cases taller than Terra wound about the room in expanding patterns that Aqua imagined only made sense from above, splitting off from the center-hub, from which intricately carved double-staircases wound up to a second level.

On any other day, this would be paradise for Aqua. But today, it would be purgatory, at best.

"He's right down that row," Braig spoke after them, "Just on the other side of the heart."

Nodding, Terra led them forward, past the rows of books that vanished so far in the distance, out into the open area space.

"Lord Ansem, we've come to tell you—" Terra began, expecting to see the Lord Protector glancing over a shelf, or perhaps reading to the Princess.

But he was nowhere to be seen. The library was utterly, absorbingly, quiet.

And that was when Aqua knew something was wrong.

Ven's muffled cry was the sign that she was right.

"Now, now, now, I'm gonna need y'all to be _very, very_ quiet, eh?" Braig threatened with a grin, as Aqua turned to find Ven's neck trapped in the larger man's elbow and a short handcannon pressed up against his forehead.

Immediately, Keyblades were in hand and pointed at the threat. The sinking feeling in Aqua's gut hung lower. They had found the rot, and it had festered deep.

"Let him go." Terra warned, voice low.

"As if!" Braig laughed, "Look, I didn't really want to do this—I mean, who would want to be at the receiving end of that?" he gestured briefly at their blades, before jamming the weapon's barrel back up against Ven's head.

Ven! Aqua began formulating a plan, her heart racing as she watched Ven squirm, his bright eyes fearful as his hands tried to grasp out his Keyblade. It was all so sudden—

"But I don't really have a choice anymore, y'know? I gotta face the music eventually, right?" he sighed, pulling Ven back further, "Because I've been a real bad boy."

Braig began to move, then, circling the edge of the library's open center and back towards one of the great rows of books that disappeared off under the second floor. If Terra could keep the brunt of the attention, Aqua thought, she might be able to get off enough of a spell to distract—just enough that Ven could pull out his Keyblade—

"What do you want?" Terra growled through gritted teeth, following them at a distance.

Braig shrugged, causing Aqua to take a sharp intake as his muzzle carelessly grazed through Ven's hair, "I just want to know how the girl's doing."

"What?" Terra's eyes narrowed, as Aqua's blood froze.

No—

"Yeah, that chick who was staying with you—did she make it?" he smirked, "Or am I just too damn good of a shot?"

"You bastard!" Terra roared, breaking some solemn silence that had held them all entranced, "You're the one covering for Shinra! You are the one who killed her! You are the corruption at the heart of the Garden!"

"Ouch, don't you ever think about how your words might make a guy feel?" Braig shook his head, before falling back out of view with a grin, down one of the rows of book, "Guess I'll just have to take out my hurt on this little fella'!"

"Terra!" Aqua exclaimed, as with another roar, her brother dashed forward after them.

Oh, Ven! Don't—he couldn't…. Not here, and not to someone like Braig or whatever darkness was happening here in this Castle. Not now! Stopping herself from chasing after them, Aqua swallowed and, with what little memory she had of this place, charted herself down a neighboring row of books.

She'd come up behind him, and Terra would come from the front. Then they'd get Ven back and take out Braig.

Dashing around a corner, nearly pulling the whole shelf down as she turned, Aqua trained her ears to hear where Braig's blasphemous cackling was coming from—and she followed it, down and to the left, then right, followed ever after by Terra's thunderous steps.

Rounding another corner of ancient wood and books, Aqua heard a great thud and gasp and, pulling to a stop around one more turn, she saw it: Braig, hacking up against a shelf, books and papers scattered around his feet, Ven still cupped in his elbow, as Terra held the Keyblade up to his forehead.

"I'll say it once more: Let. Him. Go." Terra warned, as Aqua moved to join him. Braig had no escape. What was he thinking?

"I'm gonna go with, ah…" Braig paused, nudging something behind him. "No?"

And suddenly, the bookshelf behind him slid back and Braig, Ven still in his arms, fell back into its darkness. Terra, without a second look, followed and Aqua, without another choice and worry for Ven overflowing, dove in after.

It was only a small white room, she noticed first, with nowhere else to go. Terra now stood menacingly over a collapsed Braig, who was wheezing and laughing and still gripping Ven close.

"Gotcha—" he started, before Terra swung with his enormous blade, tossing the handcannon from Braig's hand and carving up the side of his face in the process. The blood splattered back against the white walls, as Braig screamed and swore as Ven wrenched himself from his arms.

"Ven! Are you okay?" Aqua exclaimed, as she quickly reached out to receive him, pulling him back from the squirming form of Braig, who twisted and convulsed on the floor, pulling himself back as he grasped at his face.

"Y-yeah, I'm fine." Ven shook his head, rubbing at his hair where Braig had been pressing, "I—sorry I wasn't paying attention—"

"Hush," Aqua chided, pressing her own hand to his head to check for herself, "We've got it taken care of now."

"You were saying?" Terra bit out, still towering over the bleeding apprentice.

But Braig had begun to cackle again, as he reached for something on the wall with the free hand that wasn't pressed again his face, blood leaking through the fingers.

"I was saying…got—cha…"

Just then, the entrance behind them shut and the ground beneath them gave way, sending the three of them stumbling as Aqua realized with terrible clarity: this wasn't some secret room.

It was a gravira elevator.

And they were now falling deeper than she knew the Bastion could go.

"Where are we going?" Terra dismissed his Keyblade and grabbed Braig by his bloodied collar, lifting him from the floor, "Stop this thing!"

Braig, only one eye visible between the blood-coated white fingers of his gloves, bit out a shaky grin, "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"Aqua?" Terra shook his head, and glanced back a her, eyes pleading and full of fear.

But before Aqua could respond, the gravira elevator slowed with a _ding_ and came to a full stop. Precipitous silence held the moment, as the white doors slid open across from Terra.

There, on the other side, stood tall, giant-like Dilan: equal even to Terra. His face was stony and firm, and he held two of his famous spears, each in one hand.

Everything seemed to slow, as Aqua froze. This was it. The Garden's rot matched the Bastion's depth.

Dilan was in on this secret—so came the mounting horror.

And how many of the others, with him?

Was the whole world darkening?

Summoning the Keyblade, Aqua flew forward, batting one of the spears Dilan had begun to raise out of the way, forcing him to spin back, and her to duck low as he brought the other one whistling around with him.

Striking out low with her foot, Aqua connected with Dilan's firm form, like a stone wall, forcing her to turn her strike into a leap that she could twist off of, spinning the Keyblade around to strike at his shoulder.

A spear came up to block, with a twin to join it on the other side, just as Ven's Keyblade came down, too. Behind them, she could hear Terra grunt as he dropped Braig and followed after them.

Dilan, noting this, frowned and jumped back, swinging his spears to create distance.

"What are you doing?" Aqua demanded, brandishing her blade as she took in the room: another pure white laboratory-setting, with a single hall extending from each side, which were themselves faced with glass.

In the center, behind Dilan, another room seemed to be set up within the hallway, like some sort of cage connected to the walls by enormous bronze pipes and harnesses—but the bulky form of the PKF commander blocked most of her view.

"We're saving the world." Dilan stated, firmly, "I do not expect you to understand that."

"How is murder and corruption 'saving the world'?" Aqua demanded.

"When the only alternative is destruction," Dilan hefted a spear, "You must make unsavory choices."

Simultaneously, Terra charged Dilan, just as Dilan threw his spear, whistling through the air with the force of a bullet. With a thunk, it embedded itself into Terra's side, nearly puncturing his armor.

Aqua, with Ven in tow, moved to support him, as he stumbled forward, swinging mightily at Dilan who, redirecting his attack with his remaining spear, shoved him into Ven, knocking the boy to the ground.

Leaping, Aqua fired off a Fira spell that fell upon Dilan as he retreated, just singing him before he stepped into the left hallway and closed the door after him.

Running to fall beside Ven, Aqua moved to pull him to his feet as she heard a click behind them—turning, she watched as Braig's blood-stained teeth grinned and he gave a little wave as the elevator doors closed behind him.

What was going on—

Beside her, Terra groaned as he dislodged the spear from his side, "What's…that?"

Following his eyes, Aqua looked through the door into the open cage. Something rumbled in there, or kicked into gear, as a dark mist began to form along the floor, seeping out to where they stood.

"The…the darkness…" Terra gasped, watching as it reached his feet.

Pulling Ven up, Aqua stood tall and threw her gaze around the room—the other hallway had somehow been closed off and she rushed to one to check for locks that the Keyblade could undo—catching then, just out of the corner of her eye, a form that stood beyond the glass to the right, staring at her with calm, amber eyes.

Xehanort.

And that was when Aqua knew it was much worse than she could've ever imagined.

Raising the Keyblade with a shout, she drove with all her force against the glass—but it did not crack, only sending a quaking reverberation up her arm. Grunting, she braced her feet and swung again, this time sending a spider-web of cracks out, up and down the whole viewing wall.

But Xehanort didn't even shift. He just watched.

"Aqua!" Ven exclaimed, calling her back.

Turning then, she saw it, forming from the mist in the center of the doorway to the caged room.

A small creature, ink-black and hunched over, with a bulbous head and two long, stretched claws. Twin antennae twisted and contorted atop its head, just above a pair of glowing, yellow eyes that eyed the three of them with an intensity that Aqua could only describe as hunger.

And then, behind them, out of that mist, came another two. Then another. And another.

"They're…using the darkness…" Terra murmured, transfixed on the creatures.

Aqua whipped back to the window, and shouted at Xehanort, "What is this—this sickness!?"

"Heartless." She heard him, muffled through the glass, "They are called heartless."

Aqua raised her blade again to strike her way through with one final blow, but Ven again shouted, this time for Terra, which called her back in time to see Ven leap forward to strike down one of the creatures, these horrific Heartless, as he stumbled forward for Terra, whose eyes remained transfixed upon them.

As it faded back into mist, only as more formed from that cage, Aqua knew her priorities.

"Terra—let's go!" Aqua ran to him, raising him from the knee he had fallen to, "Break down the walls, I'll handle these monsters!"

"The door…" Terra repeated, shrugging Aqua off, "They're coming from the door…"

Aqua blanched as she followed his eyes with confusion—there, over where the Heartless now seemed to pour out from the cage, rolling over each other like a swarm of rats, sure enough, there was a door.

With a black, pulsating Keyhole.

A door to darkness? The legends? Was that what this was? What Terra was talking about?

Leaping forward, Aqua batted away two more of the creatures that swarmed around Ven's feet, dispatching their grasping, cutting, ice-cold claws into mist. But their eyes kept multiplying, kept watching, kept staring at them with that horrible glow—and Aqua felt herself sinking into them, as they piled up, grasping, clawing, and climbing around her.

"Aerora!" Aqua exclaimed, sending a blast of wind circling out around her and tossing the Heartless back to crash against the side walls. Some met Ven's blade in the process—but even more poured out from the cage, even as she and Ven stood back to back carving at them; they were coming like a wave to wash them away.

"Don't worry!" Terra suddenly announced, standing tall and aiming his blade, "I'll lock it—that'll keep them back."

Ven nodded and ducked out of the way, tumbling to let Terra have a clear shot. Aqua was more hesitant, carving again through another row of creatures that slid and twisted so unnaturally—she just couldn't get Xehanort's gaze out of her mind, as he stood there watching like they were animals in a cage.

But Terra didn't wait. Lifting his blade, and pointing through the swarm and to the door, he focused and, with a roar, released a great beam of blinding light from the tip of his blade, knocking Aqua back herself from the blast.

As the beam plunged into the door's depths, the entire laboratory shook with a great, heavy _click—_ and all was silent for a moment.

Then there was the sound of a breeze, as Aqua jumped back up to run for Terra.

Then that breeze became a whistling current, which caused her robe to rustle and her hair to blow across her face. Terra was just lowering his blade, looking over his work as the remaining Heartless froze in place.

But then that breeze became a roaring, empty wind, a tumult that whipped about the whole room, even tossing the Heartless up into the air. The whole space shook, as the gust became a biting, churning hurricane which didn't seem to be letting up—and Aqua saw it then; the door had flown open.

Grabbing Terra's arm and reaching out for Ven, Aqua began to chant a spell—a haste, a counter Aero, something, anything, to slow what was happening.

The wind was a screeching, blinding gale now that nearly forced her eyes closed as she reached for Ven, who's light form had already lifted into air and who was also grasping back for her, helplessly.

"Aqua-!"

"Ven-!"

And just like that, it was too late. Aqua felt her feet leave the ground and she was sent tumbling forward, and Terra with her, crashing through the heartless and the cage's small opening. As Terra disappeared behind her with a shout, she grasped out and caught the edge of the entrance with the tips of her fingers.

Grunting, Aqua tried to pull herself forward, even as it felt like being torn in two. The darkness, the door, the wind, they all felt the same and were pulling at her, whipping at her, with such great force.

Her whole body shaking, Aqua reached forward for a better grip—but as Ven came tumbling forward, she instinctively reached out to grab him and, with the force of his roll, found her fingers slipping from their hold and her whole self sinking back.

And there, as the darkness engulfed her at the peak of the gale's deafening roar, she saw Xehanort, one more time, on the other side of the glass.

Just smiling.

And with that, the whole lab vanished, and it seemed, the whole Castle for that matter. There was darkness and light and wind and quiet and tumbling, unknowable, unrecognizable nothing. Color and lights and warmth and cold.

 _Father, I'm so sorry._

Then, suddenly, all was still, and Aqua found her world righting.

She was standing in a green field, at the bottom of a tall hill. But as she looked down, she saw that her hands weren't her hands and her feet weren't her feet, rather, the whole scene seemed dreamlike in quality; as if it were fuzzy around the edges and she couldn't quite control where she was going.

Then she, or rather, whatever she wasn't, stepped forward, wandering up the hill before them. Aqua couldn't look up yet, though she felt herself trying to crane her neck. She somehow felt far shorter than herself.

What was going on? What about the Bastion? The Garden? The Apprentices? Where were Terra and Ven? How could they, how could she, fail their Father so quickly?

But still, whatever she was in, whoever she was, simply marched quietly up this hill, not a care in the world. The top was cresting soon, she could tell, and as it did, she found herself looking out over another, even broader field, upon which an enormous structure was being built—all ramparts and towers and a great central pillar; a castle.

It was all so dreamy and distant: it was there, but it was not. She could feel it, but she couldn't. The air felt cool and fresh; and the light more splendorous and peaceful than she knew possible.

There was someone standing next to her, maybe? Someone who had been waiting at the top of the hill for her?

But she couldn't tell herself to turn—was it even her body?

Her view was following up the great constructed structure, covered with hundreds of people at work. Above it, just beyond its highest turret, a great light filled the sky with a warm yellow; an immense form, closer than any moon she had ever seen, shaped in some sort of—

A heart. It was the great heart.

Kingdom Hearts, bathing the world in the warmth of its light.

But her view didn't remain there long, as her eyes swung to the right, to the person next to her and she felt herself, or whoever she was, smile as she looked upon a tall boy beside her, a couple years younger than Ven, with sharp blue eyes and long silver hair, tied up behind his head in a knot.

Then she spoke with a voice not her own, nor with words that she intended to say:

"What a lovely evening, don't you think, Sephiroth?"

* * *

"Aerith, c'mon, ya really don't have to—" Cid was insisting, as Aerith cleared a small bit of space on his oil-stained and tool-covered workbench to place a plate of dinner: potatoes, with some vegetables and a glass of clear water.

"No, no, I want to." Aerith insisted, "I'm just…trying to stay busy, right?"

Cid paused, stroking his chin, "Yeah, I gotcha. Ain't we all."

"It's…really quite good. Tifa can work wonders." Aerith offered a little smile, and turned to leave.

"That she can—Aerith," Cid suddenly interjected, "I, uh, I just…wanted to tell you somethin' I thought you should know."

Aerith stopped reaching for the door, to look back expectantly at Cid, as he walked out from under the _Highwind_ and wiped his grimy hands with an even grimier rag.

"I, uh…I remember when your old man, Gast, I mean," Cid sighed, "When he worked at Shinra. Saw…your ma a few times, too, now, I guess… and Aerith—I don't know how—"

"Just say it, Cid."

"Ah, f*ck me, I'm sorry—it's just that, I don't know how, but she hadn't aged a day. Not in twenny-damn-years." Cid nodded, chewing his lip slightly, as he turned toward dinner, "And I guess that's all. Thought you should know. I'm real sorry about it all."

Aerith nodded, trying to process the indecipherable, "Thank you, Cid."

"Yeah…yeah…" Cid nodded, as Aerith reached again for the door and exited out into the cool night air of the Garden, back toward the house.

"Look, y'know…if you need anything…" Cid rubbed at his face, "Well, you should probably go to Zack or somethin'. But if he's out saving the trees or the solar system or whatthef*ckever, well…you know where to find me."

Nothing, then, could stop a brief, earnest smile from appearing on Aerith's lips—even a sudden exhale.

"Thank you, Cid. Really."

And with a half-shrug, half-nod, Cid returned to his work and Aerith exited into the shadowy evening.

What was she supposed to make of all that? One more mystery to throw upon the pile?

She still believed what she told that monster Hojo, the answers…they didn't really matter, in the end. What mattered was her family. Her friends. Zack. Her Mother.

But amidst her…loss, she couldn't stop the questions from creeping about the edges of her mind.

As she passed under her beautiful Morning Glories, proudly intertwined with Trumpets Vines over the arching trellis, Aerith saw Squall's firm form standing at the far edge of the back Garden, looking into the darkness. He and Rinoa were constantly keeping watch now, circling the house and its grounds with their expert quiet.

Aerith sighed. When had this become a prison?

Pushing through the small wooden back door, she entered back into the warmth of the house, which still held the lingering scent of Tifa's homecooking in the air. It had been a quiet dinner—and Zack had left soon after, Cloud with him, restless and wanting to fight the whole of Shinra, find Vincent, and tell the Bastion everything, but only after Aerith had pretended to go to an early bed and he'd promised only to do the second.

Otherwise, he hadn't left her side since they had stumbled themselves out of that sewer exit.

"Oh, Aerith, hey—" Tifa exclaimed, as Aerith passed by the kitchen, "So all the cleaning's done, everything's put away, and I'll just be finishing some scrubbing in here."

"Thank you, Tifa." Aerith smiled, genuinely—but yet, still feeling a sense of distance.

"Just—just let me know if you need anything!" Tifa added, nervously wiping her hands on the white apron, "Not like any of us is going anywhere, right?"

"Right." Aerith nodded, recognizing again their state as she turned from the kitchen and moved down the hall to the living room and, with a long breath, collapsed onto the lounge.

Aerith had tried everything, cleaning, sowing, reading, writing, work—but everything just had this vague sense of emptiness that tugged at her. What was she supposed to do now?

She had met her mother and lost her mother, like a dream. She had cried all her tears and talked it over endlessly with Zack. She had made her commitment, she knew who her family was, but still, she couldn't shake that image of her mother, bathed in light, looking at her with those proud, kind green eyes that held something so deep that Aerith had only just dipped a single toe into.

She realized absently that the white marble was in her hand again, rolling between her fingers. She did that a lot now, while thinking.

So what was she supposed to do? Zack wanted to move, she wanted to stay. She wished she could turn back time to how things were just a few weeks ago, as she waited expectantly for Zack and the others to return from another jaunt around the world; when she would look out at her garden wistfully and think of all the lovely things they would do together.

Yet here they were now, with nothing good ahead of them. Stay quiet and be hunted by Shinra? Report crimes they had no evidence for—and admit their own in the process? If only…if only Ilfana had…had…

The quiet creak of the floorboards was the only sound that warned Aerith that Merlin had entered the room. Without a word, he plodded to the table in front of her and set down a little saucer and cup, filled with rooibos tea and flavored with a few rose petals.

Without looking at her, Merlin then moved to his well-worn chair and sat down.

No speech. No solution, or even an attempt. No more apologies or investigations.

He just made her tea, like he had at eight when she had tried, and failed, to ride her bike down a set of stairs from the Fourth District and come home sobbing, bruised and scraped.

And just like he had at eleven when her first King Protea transplant didn't take and the poor flower dried up even before the winter came, and Aerith had felt like such a failure.

And just like he had when Zell had dumped her after two weeks in ninth grade, and left her frustrated and crying in the central park of the fifth district, where Merlin had found her and brought her home.

And just like he had every night when Aerith had stayed up for days straight to study for final exams, even as he insisted that she was more than prepared. He had been right, of course.

And just like he had when she came home for the first time, in some heady mixture of exuberant and concerned, to tell him about a certain young man who had asked her out on a date to the great arboretums of the Sixth District.

Reaching out and feeling the warmth of the cup, far more than the cold facts of any answers, Aerith felt a few more tears well. With a silent prayer of thanks to her mother and whoever else was out there, she picked up the cup and smelled its earthy, yet sweet, aroma.

She may still not be completely moored, but maybe, just perhaps, she was a little more certain today than she was yesterday that she knew where shore was.


End file.
